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Between   Two   Opinions  ig 

1f  ^  i§  ^  Or  the  Romance  of  a  Spahi 

By  ^  ^   ^  ^  ^  if  Pierre  Loti 

Translated  by  M.  L.  Watkins   ^   ^   '§   "§   "§ 


Chicago  and  New  York  ♦  ♦  ♦ 
Rand,  McNally  &  Company 


Copyright,  1890,  by  Rand,  McNally  &  Co. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

INTRODUCTION. 
I. 

In  descending  the  coast  of  Africa,  after 
passing  the  southern  extremity  of  Moroc- 
co, one  travels  for  several  days  and  nights 
in  sight  of  an  interminable  country  of 
desolation.  It  is  the  Sahara,  the  great 
"sea  without  water,"  which  the  Moors 
also  call  "  Beled-el-ateuch,"  the  land  of 
thirst. 

These  shores  of  the  desert  are  five  hun- 
dred leagues  long,  yet  there  is  no  harbor 
for  the  ships  which  pass  that  way. 

The  solitudes  spread  everywhere  with  a 
sad  monotony,  without  a  plant  or  a  ves- 
tige of  life — only  the  moving  sand-hills, 
the  boundless  horizons,  and  the  blazing 
light  of  the  sun. 

(6) 


6  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

At  last  there  appears  above  the  sands 
an  old,  white  city,  planted  amid  rare,  yel- 
low palm-trees.  It  is  Saint  Louis  of  the 
Senegal,  the  capital  of  Senegambia ;  its 
mosques,  towers,  and  houses  of  Moorish 
architecture  all  seem  to  sleep  there,  under 
the  burning  sun,  like  those  Portuguese 
towns  that  formerly  flourished  on  the 
coast  of  Congo — Saint  Paul  de  Loando 
and  Saint  Felipe  de  Benguela. 

On  approaching  the  city,  one  is  sur- 
prised to  find  that  it  is  not  built  on  the 
shore,  and  that  it  has  not  even  a  harbor, 
nor  any  communication  with  the  outside 
world.  The  coast,  which  is  almost  straight 
and  very  low,  is  as  inhospitable  as  that  of 
the  Sahara,  whose  eternal  line  of  breakers 
prevents  the  approach  of  ships. 

The  two  Jaloff  villages,  Guet-n'dar  and 
N'dar-toute,  that  lie  between  Saint  Louis 
and  the  sea,  are  formed  of  thousands  and 
thousands  of  mud  houses,  Lilliputian  huts, 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  7 

where  swarms  a  strange  population  of 
black  people. 

This  barrier  made  by  the  sea,  separat- 
ing this  country  from  the  rest  of  the  world, 
is  the  chief  cause  of  its  gloom  and  stag- 
nation. Saint  Louis  affords  no  harbor  for 
the  packet  and  merchant  boats  when  they 
sail  into  the  other  hemisphere,  and  people 
go  there  when  they  are  forced  to  go;  but 
no  one  ever  remains  there,  for  it  is  like 
some  vast  and  silent  prison. 

In  the  northern  part  of  Saint  Louis, 
near  the  mosque,  not  many  years  ago, 
there  stood  a  little,  old,  isolated  house, 
owned  by  a  certain  Samba- Hamet,  a  mer- 
chant of  some  means,  who  trafficked  up 
and  down  the  river.  This  house  was 
whitewashed,  and  its  cracked,  brick  walls 
and  dry,  decayed  timbers  served  as  the 
abode  of  legions  of  insects,  white  ants, 
and  blue  lizards. 

Two  storks  frequented  the  roof,  chat- 


8  The  Romance  of  a  Spain. 

tering  gravely  to  the  sun,  craning  their 
necks  toward  the  deserted  street  when  by 
chance  a  human  being  passed  that  way. 

A  brittle,  thorny  palm-tree,  the  only  sign 
of  verdure  in  that  vicinity,  each  day  threw 
lightly  upon  the  glowing  walls  its  meager 
shadow.  On  the  branches  of  the  palm, 
there  were  perched  numbers  of  blue  and 
yellow  birds,  which  in  France  are  called 
Bengalis. 

Everywhere  there  is  sand — always  sand 
— never  a  piece  of  moss  nor  a  sprig  of 
grass  on  the  arid  soil;  all  is  withered  and 
scorched  by  the  burning  breath  of  the 
Sahara. 

O,  the  gloom,  the  sadness  of  the  land 
of  Africa ! 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


II. 

On  the  ground  floor  of  this  isolated 
house  there  dwelt,  amid  the  wreck  of  her 
fortunes,  a  horrible  old  negress  named 
Coura-n'diaye,  an  ancient  favorite  of  a 
great,  black  king.  Here  she  had  installed 
herself  with  her  fantastic  rags,  her  little 
slaves  bedecked  with  glass  beads  and 
trinkets,  her  goat,  her  big-horned  sheep, 
and  her  cadaverous  yellow  dogs. 

On  the  upper  floor  there  was  a  large 
square  room,  which  was  reached  by  an 
outer  stair-way  of  worm-eaten  wood. 
Every  evening  at  sunset,  a  man  wearing 
the  red  uniform  and  Mussulman  fez  of  a 
spahi  mounted  the  stair-way  and  entered 
the  upper  apartment  of  the  house  of 
Samba-Hamet.  The  storks  on  the  roof, 
catching  a  glimpse  of  him  when   he  was 


lo  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

yet  a  great  way  off,  at  the  other  end  of 
the  deserted  street,  recognized  his  step 
and  the  bright  colors  of  his  uniform,  and 
permitted  him  to  enter  without  showing 
any  inquietude,  as  a  personage  long  and 
well  known. 

He  was  a  very  tall  man,  and  of  a  pure 
white  race,  though  the  sun  of  Africa  had 
already  bronzed  his  face  and  breast.  He 
was  also  extremely  handsome,  having  large, 
dark  eyes,  almond-shaped,  like  those  of  an 
Arab,  and  from  beneath  his  fez,  w^hich 
was  pushed  back  from  his  spotless  brow, 
there  escaped  a  mass  of  soft,  brown  curls. 

His  bearing  was  noble  and  manly,  and 
he  held  his  head  boldly  erect.  Strength 
and  suppleness  seemed  blended  in  his 
graceful  form,  which  was  admirably  set  off 
by  his  gay  uniform.  He  was  unusually 
serious  and  pensive,  but  his  smile  had  a 
feline  grace,  and  disclosed  teeth  white  and 
beautiful. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  1 1 


III. 

One  day  this  spahi  wore  even  more 
than  usual  a  thoughtful,  serious  air,  as 
he  ascended  the  wooden  stair-way  of  the 
house  of  Samba-Hamet. 

On  entering  the  upper  apartment,  in 
which  he  seemed  to  be  perfectly  at  home, 
he  looked  surprised  to  find  it  empty. 
The  room  was  bare,  and  destitute  of 
furniture  except  for  several  long  benches 
covered  with  mats,  and  a  tara,  a  kind 
of  sofa  of  light  straw  which  is  made  by 
the  negroes  of  the  coast  of  Gambia. 
From  the  high  ceiling  were  suspended 
parchments  and  talismans  .written  by  the 
priests  of  Maghreb. 

The  spahi  approached  a  chest  in  one 
corner  of  the  room — a  chest  ornamented 
with   copper   bands   and   sparkling    with 


1 2  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

variegated  colors,  similar  to  those  in 
which  the  Jaloffs  store  away  their  pre- 
cious objects — and,  on  endeavoring  to 
open  it,  found  it  shut  fast. 

He  then  threw  himself  upon  the  tar  a 
and  took  from  his  pocket  a  letter  which 
he  began  to  read,  after  having  kissed  the 
signature. 

It  was  a  love-letter  without  a  doubt, 
written  by  some  beautiful  woman,  a  fair 
Parisian  or  romantic  senorita,  to  this 
handsome  spahi  in  Africa,  who  seemed 
just  forrhed  to  play  the  grand  role  of 
hero  in  the  melodrama  of  love. 

The  letter  will  probably  give  us  a  clue 
to  some  dramatic  adventure  from  which 
the  story  will  begin. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spaki.  1 3 


IV. 

The  letter  upon  which  the  spahi  had 
pressed  his  lips  bore  the  post-mark  of  an 
obscure  village  of  the  Cevennes,  and  was 
written  by  a  poor,  old,  trembling  hand 
unused  to  holding  the  "pen.  The  lines 
ran  together,  and  the  mistakes  were  nu- 
merous.    It  said  : 

My  Dear  Son  :  This  present  is  to  give  you 
news  of  our  health,  which  at  this  time  is  good, 
thank  God.  But  your  father  says  he  is  beginning 
to  feel  old,  and  as  his  eyesight  is  failing  him  fast, 
I,  your  old  mother,  must  take  the  pen  to  speak  to 
you.  You  know  that  I  do  not  write  well,  so  you 
must  excuse  everything. 

This  is  to  tell  you,  my  dear  son,  that  since  you 
left  us,  nothing  has  gone  well  with  us;  prosperity 
as  well  as  joy  left  us  with  you.  The  year  has 
been  a  hard  one  on  account  of  a  terrible  hail 
which  fell  in  this  country,  and  destroyed  almost 
everything  we  had. 


14  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi, 

Our  cow  is  sick,  and  it  has  cost  us  a  great  deal 
to  doctor  her. 

Since  your  father  returned  to  this  country,  his 
day's  labor  does  not  amount  to  much,  for  the 
younger  men  do  their  work  in  a  shorter  time 
than  he. 

It  is  necessary  for  us  to  repair  a  part  of  the  roof, 
which  threatens  to  fall  whenever  it  rains. 

I  know  that  in  the  army  one  has  not  much 
money,  but  your  father  says  if  you  can  send  us 
what  you  promised,  without  depriving  yourself,  it 
will  help  us  greatly. 

The  M6rys  could  well  assist  us,  but  we  do  not 
wish  to  ask  it  of  them,  being  loath'  to  have  them 
think  us  beggars.  We  often  see  your  cousin  Jeanne 
M6ry,  who  grows  more  beautiful  every  day.  It 
seems  her  greatest  pleasure  to  come  to  us  to  ask 
after  you.  She  says  that  she  wishes  for  nothing 
better  than  to  marry  you,  my  dear  Jean,  but  that 
her  father  will  not  hear  to  it,  because,  he  says, 
you  are  too  poor;  and  he  says,  too,  you  have  been 
a  bad  subject  in  your  day. 

I  believe,  however,  if  you  win  your  promotion 
as  quartermaster,  that  on  your  return  to  this 
country  in  your  military  clothes  he  will  decide  in 
your  favor.     I  can   die  happy  if  I    see   you  well 


I 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  1 5 

married.  You  will  build  a  house  near  to  ours, 
which  is  not  fine  enough  for  you.  Peyral  and  I 
draw  plans  for  it  every  evening. 

Without  fail,  my  dear  Jean,  send  us  a  little 
money,  for  I  assure  you  we  are  in  need  of  it; 
we  have  not  been  able  to  recuperate  this  year,  on 
account  of  the  hail  and  the  cow. 

Adieu,  my  dear  son.  The  people  of  the  village 
inquire  of  you,  and  wish  to  know  when  you  will 
return.  The  neighbors  all  send  good  wishes,  and 
as  for  myself,  you  know  that  I  have  not  had  a 
moment  of  happiness  since  you  left  us,  three  years 
ago.     I  close,  embracing  you,  as  does  Peyral. 

Your  old  mother,  who  adores  you, 

Francoise  Peyral. 


1 6  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


V. 

Jean,  after  reading  the  letter,  leaned 
out  of  the  window  and  began  to  muse, 
regarding  vaguely  the  great  African  land- 
scape unrolled  before  him. 

The  pointed  silhouettes  of  the  Jaloff 
huts  massed  by  the  thousand  at  his  feet, 
and  in  the  distance  the  great,  restless  sea, 
with  its  eternal  line  of  breakers. 

A  sickly  sun  was  just  sinking  behind 
the  horizon,  still  shedding  a  dull  glimmer 
on  the  desert  and  the  limitless  waste  of 
sand.  A  caravan  of  Moors  slowly  wound 
its  way  across  the  dreary  plains,  and  a 
black  cloud  of  vultures  circled  in  the  air. 
And  beyond — a  point  that  fixed  the  eye — 
the  cemetery  of  Sorr,  where  already  lay 
so  many  of  his  comrades,  mountaineers 
like  himself,  victims  to  the  fever  in  that 
terrible  climate. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  1 7 

Oh,  that  he  might  return  to  live  near 
his  old  parents,  in  a  little  cottage  with 
Jeanne  Mery !  Why  have  they  exiled 
him  to  this  land  of  Africa?  What  is 
there  in  common  between  him  and  this 
strange  country? 

It  is  true,  that  gay  uniform  and  that 
Arabian  fez  give  him  an  air  of  splendor ; 
but  what  a  disguise  for  the  poor,  little 
peasant  of  the  Cevennes  ! 

Jean  remained  a  long  time  at  the  win- 
dow, dreaming  of  his  native  village. 
Poor  warrior  of  the  Senegal ! 

The  sun  went  down,  the  shadows  of 
night  fell,  and  his  heart  was  full  of  a 
vague  sorrow. 

From  N'dar-toute  he  heard  the  sudden 
clash  of  the  tam-tam,  calling  the  negroes 
to  the  bamboula,  and  in  the  Jaloff  huts 
fires  were  flashing. 

It  was  an  evening  in  December.  A 
rough   wind   whirled    the   sand  about  in 


1 8  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

gusts,  and  it  soon  began  to  grow  cold,  a 
sensation  almost  unknown  in  that  burning 
country. 

Suddenly  the  door  opened,  and  a  yel- 
low dog  of  the  laobe  race  (the  native  dog 
of  Africa)  entered  the  room,  with  the 
stealthy  movements  of  a  jackal,  and  began 
to  gambol  at  his  master's  feet. 

At  the  same  time  there  appeared  in  the 
door-way  a  young  black  girl,  laughing 
gayly,  who  made  Jean  a  brusque,  comical 
little  courtesy,  the  reverence  of  the 
negress,    and   said,    ''Keen "    (good-day). 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  1 9 


VI. 

The  spahi  regarded  her  abstractedly. 
"  Fatou-gaye,"  he  said,  in  a  mixture  of 
Creole-French  and  Jaloff  ;  "  Fatou-gaye, 
open  the  chest,  that  I  may  get  the  silver." 

"Tes  Khaliss!"  responded  she,  open- 
ing wide  her  great  eyes  under  their  dark 
lashes.  "  Tes  Khaliss !"  (pieces  of  silver) 
she  repeated,  with  the  mixture  of  fear  and 
audacity  of  a  child  expecting  punishment. 

Then  she  pointed  to  her  ears,  from 
which  were  suspended  three  pairs  of  ear- 
rings of  exquisite  workmanship. 

They  were  jewels  set  in  the  pure  gold 
of  Gallam,  which  the  black  artists  have 
the  secret  of  fashioning  as  they  crouch 
on  the  sands,  working  mysteriously  under 
the  shade  of  their  low  tents. 

Fatou-gaye   had   just   purchased  these 


20  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

long-coveted  ornaments  with  the  silver,  a 
hundred  francs,  which  Jean  had  amassed 
little  by  little,  the  result  of  his  poor  sav- 
ings as  a  soldier,  and  which  were  destined 
for  his  old  parents  in  France. 

The  eyes  of  the  spahi  darted  lightning ; 
he  took  down  his  whip  to  strike  her,  but 
his  heart  failed  him,  and  his  arm  fell 
helpless  to  his  side.  He  quickly  grew 
calm;  he  was  tender-hearted,  Jean  Peyral, 
with  all  his  faults. 

He  did  not  even  reproach  her,  for  he 
knew  it  would  be  useless,  and  besides,  it 
was  partly  his  own  fault ;  he  should  have 
concealed  the  money  more  carefully.  It 
was  now  necessary  to  find  it  elsewhere  at 
any  price. 

Fatou-gaye  knew  well  how  to  soothe 
and  flatter  Jean,  and  as  he  reclined  non- 
chalantly on  his  td.ra,  she  knelt  beside 
him  on  the  floor  and  embraced  him  with 
her  beautiful,  shapely  arms,  encircled  with 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.  2 1 

silver  bracelets,  and  leaning  her  head  on 
his  breast,  regarded  him  with  her  dark 
eyes  full  of  fire  and  passion. 

Jean  did  not  long  withstand  these  warm 
caresses,  and  soon  she  had  obtained  his 
full  pardon  for  her  fault. 

He  postponed  till  to-morrow  the  search 
for  the  money  so  anxiously  expected  at 
the  home  of  his  old  parents. 


PART    I. 

CHAPTER    I. 

Three  years  had  elapsed  since  Jean 
Peyral  first  planted  his  foot  on  the  soil 
of  Africa,  and  since  his  arrival  he  had 
passed  through  the  many  phases  of  a 
great  moral  transformation. 

Temperament,  climate,  and  nature  had 
gradually  wrought  the  change,  and  still 
kept  him  under  the  spell  of  their  ener- 
vatinof  influence. 

He  felt  that  he  was  gliding  down  un- 
known precipices,  for  to-day  he  was  the 
lover  of  Fatou-gaye,  a  dusky  young  girl 
of  the  Khassouke  race,  who  had  thrown 
over  him  her  seductive  charms,  enthrall- 
ing his  senses  as  if  with  the  spell  of 
her  amulets. 

The  past  history  of  Jean   is  not  very 

(23) 


24  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

complicated.  At  the  age  of  twenty, 
chance  took  him  from  his  mother's  side, 
and  he  went  away  with  the  other  sons  of 
his  mountain  village,  singing  very  bravely, 
that  he  might  not  shed  tears. 

His  tall  stature  and  fine  form  had 
marked  him  for  a  cavalryman ;  the  mys- 
terious fascination  for  the  unknown  made 
him  choose  the  corps  of  the  spahis. 

His  childhood  was  spent  in  an  obscure 
village  in  the  depths  of  the  forests  of  the 
Cevennes  mountains,  where  he  had  grown 
like  a  young  oak  in  the  pure  mountain 
air. 

His  father  and  mother  were  the  most 
cherished  figures  of  his  childhood,  and 
deep  in  his  heart  there  were  ineffaceable 
memories  of  his  early  happy  life — the 
little  old-fashioned  cottage  at  the  edge 
of  the  forest,  the  mountain  stream,  the 
mossy  paths,  his  many  youthful  advent- 
ures and  liberty. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  25 

In  his  boyhood  he  knew  nothing  of  the 
world  outside  of  the  village,  which  to 
him  had  no  boundary  but  the  wild  country 
inhabited  by  shepherds.  He  spent  whole 
days  in  the  forests  wandering  under  the 
great  oaks,  sometimes  in  the  deep  reverie 
of  a  young  shepherd,  and  then  again 
savagely  climbing  the  trees  and  breaking 
their  branches  like  the  wild,  untamed  boy 
that  he  was. 

On  Sundays  he  accompanied  his  parents 
to  church,  attired  in  clothes  very  fine  for 
a  mountaineer,  always  holding  by  the 
hand  little  Jeanne  Mery,  whom  they  took 
with  them  as  they  passed  the  house  of 
his  uncle  Mery. 

As  he  grew  older,  that  spirit  of  inde- 
pendence and  the  desire  to  roam  increased. 
He  appropriated  horses  for  long  rides,  and 
poached  with  an  old  gun  that  hardly  ever 
went  off.  His  frequent  encounters  with  the 
gamekeeper  greatly    mortified   his   uncle 


26  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

Mery,  who  dreamed  of  his  learning  a 
trade  and  of  his  making^  himself  a  useful 
and  respectable  citizen. 

It  was  true,  he  had  been  a  "bad  sub- 
ject ;"  but  the  people  in  the  village  loved 
him,  even  those  who  had  suffered  most 
from  his  youthful  misdemeanors,  for  he 
had  a  frank  and  noble  heart,  and  no  one 
could  resist  his  smile. 

His  uncle  Mery,  with  his  sermons  and 
threats,  had  no  influence  over  him  ;  but 
when  he  found  that  he  had  wounded  his 
mother,  his  heart  swelled  within  him,  and 
the  great,  strapping  youth  would  lower  his 
head  and  weep. 

He  was  an  untamed  colt,  but  not  a 
libertine. 

The  village,  with  its  environments  of 
simplicity  and  innocence,  shielded  him 
from  the  unhealthy  contagions  and  pre- 
cocious depravity  of  the  dissipated  and 
abandoned  of  large  cities  ;  so  that,  when 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         27 

his  twenty  years  suggested  it  was  time 
for  him  to  enter  the  service,  Jean  was  as 
pure  and  almost  as  innocent  of  the  evils 
of  life  as  a  little  child. 


28  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


II. 

But  after   awhile    he  encountered  sur- 
prises   of    every    kind,    and,    in    passing 
through  a  large  city,  he  followed  his  com- 
panions into  resorts  of   debauchery,  and 
for  awhile  his  head  was  turned  with  the 
novelty   and    fascination    of   such   a  life. 
But  at  last  his  soul  revolted  with  disgust 
at  its  revelations  ;  and  in  a  few  days  a  ves- 
sel bore  him  away — ^very  far  away — on  a 
calm,  blue    sea,   and    landed    him,   bewil- 
dered, exiled,  by  the  side  of  the  Senegal. 
It  was  a  day  in  the  month  of  Novem- 
ber,   the   time   when    the   great  baobabs 
shed  the  last  leaves  of  autumn  on  the  yel- 
low sands,  that  the  first  curious  gaze  of 
Jean    Peyral    fell    on    the    corner   of  the 
globe  where  his  destiny    had   abandoned 
him  to  spend  five  years  of  his  life. 


The  Romatice  of  a  Spahi.  29 

The  strange  country  made  a  vivid  im- 
pression on  his  mind,  and  the  life  of  a 
spahi  pleased  him,  for  he  took  great  de- 
light in  having  a  horse,  in  curling  his 
mustache,  in  wearing  his  Arabian  fez,  his 
big  saber,  and  his  red  uniform.  He  also 
made  the  discovery  that  he  was  hand- 
some and  attractive. 


3©  The  Romance  of  a  Spaki. 


III. 

November  is  the  belle  saison  on  the 
Senegal,  corresponding  with  our  winters 
in  France,  and  it  is  then  that  the  heat 
decreases  in  intensity,  and  the  dry  wind 
of  the  desert  succeeds  the  terrible  storms 
of  summer.  Not  a  drop  of  rain  falls,  and 
each  day  the  soil  is  unceasingly,  unmerci- 
fully scorched  and  burnt  by  a  devouring 
sun. 

This  is  the  season  when  lizards  abound, 
water  fails  in  the  cisterns,  marshes  dry 
up,  vegetation  withers,  and  even  the  cac- 
tus and  thorny  fig-tree  refuse  to  open 
their  dull -yellow  blossoms.  But  the 
evenings  are  cool,  and  at  sunset  a  strong 
sea-breeze  rises,  which  causes  the  break- 
ers to  roar  and  Lish  the  shore,  and  shakes 
down  pitilessly  the  last  sad  autumn  leaves. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  31 

Sad  autumn,  which  brings  with  it 
neither  the  long  evenings,  as  in  France, 
nor  the  charm  of  the  frosts,  the  harvest, 
and  golden  fruits  !  For  there  is  no  fruit 
in  that  God-forsaken  country  ;  nothing  but 
the  arachis  and  the  bitter  pistachio. 

As  far  as  the  eye  can  see,  there  are 
great  hot  plains,  gloomy  and  desolate, 
covered  with  withered  herbs,  and  here 
and  there,  side  by  side  with  the  diminu- 
tive, stunted  palms,  grow  the  colossal 
baobabs,  the  mastodons  of  the  vegetable 
kingdom,  whose  gigantic  branches  are  in- 
habited by  vultures,  bats,  and  lizards. 


32  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


IV. 

The  ennui  which  Jean  now  so  often  felt 
was  to  him  an  entirely  new  sensation  ;  it 
was  a  kind  of  vague  melancholy,  a  long- 
ing for  the  mountains,  the  village,  and  the 
cottage  of  his  old  parents. 

The  spahis,  his  new  companions — a 
great  many  of  whom  had  carried  their 
formidable  sabers  into  India  and  Algeria 
— had  cauofht  there,  in  the  ale-houses  of 
these  maritime  towns,  a  spirit  of  libertin- 
ism, and  their  contact  with  the  world  had 
furnished  them  with  a  ready  stock  of  cant 
phrases  and  cynic  pleasantries,  which  they 
were  always  ready  to  apply  to  everything. 

Brave  fellows  they  were  at  heart,  joy- 
ous comrades ;  but  they  had  ideas  which 
Jean  could  not  understand,  and  pleasures 
which  were  revolting  to  him. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  '})'}> 

For  Jean  was  a  dreamer,  because  he 
was  a  mountaineer.  Reflection  is  almost 
unknown  to  the  giddy  and  foolish  popula- 
tion of  large  cities ;  but  among  men  reared 
in  the  country,  among  sailors  and  the  sons 
of  fishermen  who  have  grown  up  in  the 
paternal  bark  amid  the  dangers  of  the 
sea,  we  meet  with  men  who  dream — true, 
silent  poets,  who  comprehend  everything, 
but  who  have  not  the  gift  to  put  their 
thoughts  into  words,  and  so  they  remain 
forever  untranslated. 

Every  evening  Jean  walked  on  the  great 
sea-shore  when  the  sands  were  rosy  and 
purple  in  the  light  of  indescribable  sun- 
sets. He  bathed  in  the  mighty  breakers 
of  the  coast  of  Africa,  and  dreamed  him- 
self once  more  a  child  as  he  rolled  in  the 
waves  that  covered  the  sands. 

The  beach  at  twilight  always  swarmed 
with  black  men  returning  to  the  villages 
laden  with  sheaves  of  millet,  and   fisher- 


34  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

men  bringing  in  their  nets,  followed  by 
crowds  of  noisy  women  and  children. 
There  are  wonderful  fish  in  the  river  Sen- 
egal ;  the  women  carry  on  their  heads 
baskets  full  of  them,  and  the  young  black 
girls  return  to  their  lodgings  crowned 
with  crawling  fishes  pierced  through  the 
gills. 

At  each  step  unexpected  pictures  greet- 
ed his  eye,  warm  and  glowing  in  the  weird 
light;  for  there  are  many  strange  and  un- 
familiar scenes  in  that  country — extraor- 
dinary figures  from  the  interior,  and  pict- 
uresque caravans  of  Moors  who  descend 
by  the  Cape  of  Barbary. 

The  crests  of/  the  purple  sand-hills  and 
the  great,  gloomy  desert  gleam  for  a  mo- 
ment in  the  last  rays  of  the  sun,  which 
fades  away  in  a  bloody  vapor,  and  all  the 
black  people  throw  themselves  on  their 
faces  to  offer  up  their  evening  prayer. 
It   is  the  holy  hour  of    Islam,  and  from 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  35 

Mecca  to  the  coast  of  the  Sahara  the 
name  of  Mahomet  is  heard  on  every 
tongue,  passing  like  a  mysterious  breath 
over  the  land  of  Africa,  growing  fainter 
and  fainter  as  it  crosses  the  Soudan,  final- 
ly dying  away  on  these  black  lips  on  the 
shores  of  the  great,  restless  sea. 

The  old  Jalofif  priests  in  their  flowing 
robes  turn  toward  the  sea  in  reciting  their 
prayers,  and  the  whole  sea-shore  is  cov- 
ered with  prostrate  forms.  A  mighty 
silence  ensues,  and  night  descends  sud- 
denly, with  the  rapidity  peculiar  to  that 
country  of  the  sun. 

At  the  close  of  day  Jean  returned  to 
the  barracks  in  the  southern  part  of  Saint 
Louis,  for  at  twilight  all  was  silent  and 
tranquil  there.  His  comrades  were  gener- 
ally scattered  about  the  streets  in  search 
of  pleasure,  and  it  was  then  that  these 
isolated  quarters  seemed  to  him  very  sad 
and  lonely,  and  he  thought  of  his  mother. 


36  The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi. 


V. 

In  the  southern  part  of  Saint  Louis 
there  were  a  number  of  ancient  brick 
houses  of  Moorish  architecture,  which  in 
the  dead  of  night  were  always  brilHantly 
illuminated,  when  elsewhere  silence  and 
darkness  reigned.  From  these  houses, 
which  are  inhabited  by  negroes,  would 
issue  strange  odors  developed  by  the 
tropical  heat,  and  the  night  was  made 
hideous  with  infernal  noises. 

There  the  spahis  were  masters  of  the 
scene  ;  it  was  there  the  poor  warriors  in 
the  red  uniform  went  to  make  an  uproar, 
stupefying  themselves  with  alcohol,  which 
they  poured  down  in  unreasonable  quan- 
tities, from  necessity  or  bravado.  But 
Jean  avoided  these  disreputable  places, 
and  prudently  stored  away  his  small  sav- 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  37 

ings,  thinking  even  then  of  his  happy  re- 
turn home.  He  was  very  wise  and  seri- 
ous, yet  his  companions  did  not  ridicule 
him,  for  the  handsome  Muller,  a  big  Al- 
satian youth  who  was  accounted  very 
knowing  at  the  barracks  on  account  of 
his  vast  experience  in  duelling  and  other 
thrilling  adventures,  had  taken  Jean  into 
his  favor,  and  somehow  the  others  were 
always  of  the  same  mind  as  Fritz  Muller. 

However,  Jean's  best  friend  was  Nyaor- 
fall,  a  black  spahi,  an  African  giant  of 
the  magnificent  race  of  Foota-Diallonke. 
He  was  a  singular  character,  on  whose 
lips  was  always  a  mysterious  smile — a 
beautiful  statue  in  black  marble. 

Such  was  the  friend  of  Jean,  and  he 
often  accompanied  him  to  his  home  at  the 
village  of  Guet-n'dar,  where  the  black 
made  him  sit  among  his  wives  upon  a 
white  mat,  and  offered  him,  in  negro  hospi- 
tality, the  Kouss-Kouss  and  the  gonrous. 


38  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


VI. 

At  Saint  Louis  the  days  passed  by  with 
the  dreary  monotony  characteristic  of  life 
in  all  small  colonial  towns,  but  the  mild 
season  of  the  year  brought  a  little  anima- 
tion to  the  streets  of  the  necropolis;  for 
every  day  at  sunset  the  women  whom  fever 
had  spared  promenaded  on  the  Govern- 
ment square,  and  on  the  avenue  of  yellow 
palms  leading  to  the  village  ol^  Guet-n'dar. 

They  were  attired  in  European  cos- 
tumes, which  gave  one  an  impression  of 
Europe  in  that  land  of  exile.  Indeed, 
the  great  Government  square,  with  its 
symmetrical  buildings,  was  not  unlike  a 
portion  of  some  southern  town  of  Eu- 
rope, apart  from  that  immense  horizon 
of  sand — that  infinite  breadth  of  space 
defining  afar  its  interminable  line. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  39 

The  handsome  spahi  always  walked 
alone  with  a  serious  and  reserved  air,  and 
soon  awakened  the  curiosity  of  the  inhab- 
itants of  Saint  Louis,  who  imagined  him 
the  hero  of  some  romantic  adventure. 

Among  the  gay  promenaders  who  often 
threw  glances  on  Jean,  was  a  woman 
more  beautiful  than  all  the  rest,  and  she 
it  was  particularly  who  seemed  to  regard 
him  with  peculiar  interest. 

Some  people  called  her  a  mulattress,  but 
her  skin  was  so  white  that  others  swore 
she  was  a  Parisian.  Her  complexion  was 
very  white,  and  her  hair  was  of  a  reddish- 
blonde — the  blonde  of  the  mulattress. 
Her  eyes  were  dark  and  dreamy,  half- 
closed,  and  full  of  a  Creole  languor. 

Although  she  was  the  wife  of  a  rich 
river  merchant,  the  people  of  Saint  Louis 
addressed  her  disdainfully  by  her  Chris- 
tian name,  as  a  woman  of  color,  and  she 
was  known  to  all  as  Cora. 


40  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

The  other  women  soon  discovered  from 
her  toilets  that  she  had  lived  in  Paris,  and 
even  Jean  discerned  that  her  flowing 
robes,  severely  simple  as  they  were,  pos- 
sessed a  peculiar  grace  which  the  others 
had  not.  He  saw,  too,  that  she  was  very 
beautiful,  and  he  felt  a  tremor,  a  kind  of 
delicious  thrill,  when  he  passed  her,  for 
she  always  lowered  her  eyes  beneath  his 
gaze. 

"She  loves  you,  Peyral,"  said  the  hand- 
some Muller,  with  the  air  of  a  man  well 
versed  in  the  affairs  of  the  heart. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi,  41 


VII. 

It  was  true,  she  did  love  him  after  a 
fashion,  and  one  day  she  invited  him  to 
her  house  to  tell  him  of  it. 

Poor  Jean  !  the  two  following  months 
slipped  away  amid  enchanted  dreams. 
This  unknown  luxury,  this  elegant,  per- 
fumed woman  strangely  stirred  his  pure 
but  ardent  heart.  Love,  which  he  had 
heretofore  regarded  cynically,  now  held 
him  a  slave.  And  it  had  all  been  be- 
stowed upon  him  unsought,  unreservedly, 
like  those  grand  fortunes  in  fairy  tales, 
the  thought  of  which  often  filled  him 
with  disquietude,  for  there  was  to  him 
something  immodest  and  revolting  in 
this  avowal  of  love.  But  he  did  not 
allow  his  mind  to  dwell  upon  that  part 
of  it,  for  in  her  presence  he  was  intoxi- 


42  The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi. 

cated  with   love,  and   thought  of  nothing 
else. 

Then  he  began  to  devote  much  time  to 
his  toilet.  He  perfumed  himself,  and 
curled  his  mustache  and  brown  hair,  and 
it  seemed  to  him,  as  to  all  young  lovers, 
th  It  he  began  to  live  the  day  he  found 
his  mistress. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.  43 


VIII. 

Cora  loved  him,  it  is  true,  yet  her  heart 
was  not  much  involved. 

A  mulattress  of  Bourbon,  she  had  been 
reared  in  all  the  idleness  and  luxury  of  a 
rich  Creole  ;  but  the  white  women  around 
her  kept  her  at  a  distance  with  a  merci- 
less disdain,  for,  as  a  Jille  de  couleuVy  she 
was  repulsive  to  them.  The  same  race 
prejudice  followed  her  to  Saint  Louis, 
and  though  she  was  the  wife  of  one  of 
the  most  influential  merchants  on  the 
river,  they  avoided  her  as  a  creature  unfit 
for  their  association. 

In  Paris,  however,  she  had  a  number  of 
refined  lovers,  and  as  her  fortune  enabled 
her  to  cut  a  considerable  figure  while  in 
France,  she  enjoyed  elegant  vice  to  her 
heart's  content. 


44  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

Besides,  she  had  a  lovely  face  and  form; 
beautiful,  soft  hands  ;  languid,  fascinating 
manners ;  and  then,  too,  she  was  sur- 
rounded by  an  atmosphere  of  romance 
and  mystery. 

She  loved  Jean  because  he  was  tall  and 
handsome ;  she  was  delighted  with  his 
boyish,  ingenuous  manners,  and,  above  all, 
she  was  pleased  with  his  fine  red  uniform. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.  45 


IX. 

The  house  in  which  Cora  Hved  was  a 
large  brick  building,  as  white  as  an  Ara- 
bian caravansary,  with  something  of  an 
Egyptian  aspect,  like  the  rest  of  the 
houses  in  the  most  ancient  quarters  of 
Saint  Louis. 

Below,  there  was  a  great  court,  where 
camels  and  Moors  of  the  desert  came  to 
crouch  upon  the  sand,  and  where  also 
swarmed  a  strange  mixture  of  dogs, 
ostriches,  and  black  slaves. 

Above,  there  were  innumerable  veran- 
das resting  on  square  columns,  resem- 
bling the  terraces  of  Babylon. 

The  upper  apartments  were  reached  by 
white  marble  stair-ways  of  a  monumental 
look. 

It  was  all  in   ruins,  and  as  gloomy  as 


4^  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

everything  else  at  Saint  Louis,  a  city 
whose  glory  has  long  since  departed — a 
colony  of  other  days. 

Still  there  was  a  certain  air  of  grandeur 
about  the  salon,  with  its  seigniorial  dimen- 
sions and  furniture  of  a  hundred  years 
ago.  It  was  haunted  with  blue  lizards, 
cats,  and  parrots ;  even  gazelles  sported 
there  over  the  fine  mats  of  Guinea. 

Black  slaves,  listlessly  dragging  along 
their  sandals,  crossed  and  recrossed  it 
with  a  mournful  tread,  leaving  behind 
them  an  acrid  odor  of  soumere  and  scented 
amulets. 

An  indescribable  melancholy  of  exile 
and  solitude  rested  on  all  things,  and  it 
grew  more  intense  during  the  hours  of 
evening,  when  there  was  perfect  silence 
save  for  the  unceasing  plaint  of  the  Afri- 
can breakers. 

In  the  apartment  occupied  by  Cora 
everything  was  bright  and  modern.^    The 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.  47 

furniture,  which  had  recently  arrived  from 
Paris,  was  fresh,  comfortable,  and  elegant, 
and  the  air  was  full  of  the  odors  of  es- 
sences bought  from  the  most  fashionable 
perfumers  of  the  boulevard. 

It  was  here  that  Jean  spent  hours  of 
ecstasy ;  it  affected  him  as  the  chamber 
of  some  enchanted  palace,  for  he  had 
never  dreamed  of  such  splendor  and 
luxury. 

This  woman  had  become  his  life,  his 
happiness,  and  she,  a  creature  blase  and 
weary  of  other  pleasures  and  amusements, 
desired  to  possess  him,  body  and  soul. 

With  the  ingenuity  of  a  Creole,  she 
succeeded  in  appearing  to  her  lover 
younger  than  she  really  was,  playing  with 
admirable  skill  and  cunning  the  irresisti- 
ble comedy  of  love. 

She  had  her  wish:  she  possessed  Jean, 
body  and  soul. 


48  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


X. 

Among  the  captives  in  the  house  of 
Cora  there  was  a  queer  little  negress 
named  Fatou-gaye,  of  whom  Jean  had 
taken  scarcely  any  notice. 

She  had  recently  been  brought  to  Saint 
Louis  and  sold  as  a  slave  by  the  Moors, 
who  had  taken  her  captive  in  one  of  their 
raids  on  the  country  of  the  Khassoukes. 

Her  malicious  disposition  and  fierce, 
independent  spirit  caused  her  to  be 
consigned  to  a  very  obscure  place  in 
the  domestic  arrangements  of  the  house- 
hold. 

Not  having  reached  a  marriageable  age, 
at  which  time  the  negresses  of  Saint 
Louis  consider  it  proper  to  clothe  them- 
selves, she  was  generally  quite  nude, 
wearing  only  a    necklace  of  charms  and 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi,  49 

glass  beads.  Her  hair  was  carefully 
shorn,  except  of  four  little  locks,  whiqh 
were  plaited  and  oiled,  and  placed  at  reg- 
ular intervals  from  her  forehead  to  the 
nape  of  her  neck.  Each  of  these  plaits 
terminated  in  a  coral  bead,  except  the 
middle  one,  which  was  reserved  for  some- 
thing more  precious.  This  one  was  orna- 
mented with  a  sequin  of  gold,  very  an- 
cient, which  must  have  been  brought 
originally  from  Arabia,  and  whose  pere- 
grinations across  the  Soudan  no  doubt 
were  long  and  complicated. 

Without  this  queer  head-dress,  one 
would  have  been  impressed  with  the 
beauty  and  regularity  of  Fatou-gaye's 
features,  for  she  was  of  the  Khassouke 
type  in  all  its  purity,  possessing  a  fine 
Grecian  form,  and  skin  as  smooth  as  pol- 
ished onyx.  Her  teeth  were  white  and 
dazzling,  her  expression  mobile  and  ani- 
mated ;  but  the  most  attractive  feature  of 


50  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

this  strange  little  face  were  her  dark,  brill- 
iant eyes,  encircled  with  blue,  moving 
restlessly  about  under  their  black  eyelids, 
and  which  at  times  were  as  soft  as  velvet, 
and  then  again  as  bright  and  sparkling  as 
diamonds,  changing  with  the  passions  of 
her  capricious  heart. 

When  Jean  went  to  the  house  of  Cora 
he  sometimes  encountered  Fatou-gaye, 
and,  as  she  saw  him  approaching,  she 
would  envelope  herself  in  the  folds  of  a 
bright  blue  bon-bon,  her  holiday  attire, 
and  advance,  smiling,  to  meet  him,  the 
soft  and  flute-like  voice  of  the  negfress 
assuming  its  most  wheedling  intonations. 

Hanging  her  head  with  the  affected  air 
of  a  monkey,  she  would  say  : 

"  May  man  coper,  souma  toubab." 
(Give  me  a  copper,  white  man.) 

This  was  the  refrain  of  all  the  children 
at  Saint  Louis,  and  Jean  was  used  to  it. 
If  he  was  in  a  good  humor,  and  had  a  sou 


The  Romance  of  a  Spain.  5 1 

in  his  pocket,  he  gave  it  to  Fatou-gaye, 
and  she,  strange  to  say,  instead  of  buying 
sweetmeats,  as  did  the  other  children, 
would  conceal  herself  in  some  obscure 
corner  and  sew  the  money  carefully  in  the 
sachets  of  her  amulets. 


52  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XL 

One  night  in  February  Jean  suspected 
something  was  wrong. 

Cora  had  requested  him  to  leave  be- 
fore midnight,  and  at  the  moment  of  his 
departure  he  imagined  he  heard  footsteps 
in  the  adjoining  apartment,  as  if  someone 
awaited  her  there. 

At  midnight  he  bade  her  adieu,  and 
left  the  house ;  but  in  a  little  while  he  re- 
turned stealthily,  walking  noiselessly  on 
the  sands,  and,  climbing  the  wall  to  a 
balcony,  he  peered  through  the  half-open 
door  into  the  chamber  of  Cora. 

A  young  man  in  the  uniform  of  an 
officer  of  the  Marines  had  taken  his 
place  beside  Cora,  and  he  seemed  to  be 
perfectly  at  home  there,  reclining  grace- 
fully on  a  sofa,  with  an  air  of  ease  and 
familiarity. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.  53 

She  sat  near  him,  conversing  with  him 
in  a  language  which  Jean  did  not  under- 
stand. They  were  really  French  words, 
but  Jean  did  not  comprehend  them.  To 
him  they  were  mocking  enigmas,  these 
brief  words,  and  far  beyond  the  reach  of 
his  understanding. 

Cora  was  changed.  Her  expression 
was  not  the  same,  and  a  peculiar  smile 
played  on  her  lips. 

Jean  trembled  ;  the  blood  rushed  to  his 
heart,  and  in  his  head  he  felt  a  roaring 
like  the  sea.  He  was  ashamed  of  being 
there ;  yet  he  wished  to  remain  and 
further  comprehend. 

He  heard  his  own  name  pronounced, 
for  they  were  speaking  of  him,  and  he 
drew  nearer,  supporting  himself  by  the 
wall,  to  hear  the  words  more  distinctly. 

"You  are  wrong,  Cora,"  said  the  young 
officer,  tranquilly,  with  a  perceptible  smile 
on  his  lips.    "In  the  first  place,  he  is  very 


54  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

handsome,  this  youth,  and  then  you  love 
him." 

"That  is  true,"  she  rephed  ;  "I  love 
you  both,  and  I  have  chosen  you  because 
your  name  is  Jean,  also;  if  I  had  not 
taken  this  precaution,  I  would  long  ago 
have  betrayed  myself  by  using  your 
name;  I  am  so  thoughtless." 

She  then  drew  nearer  to  the  new  Jean 
and  caressed  him,  speaking  to  him  soft, 
endearing  words,  lisped  in  the  winning 
accents  of  a  Creole,  and  on  his  lips  she 
pressed  kisses  warm  and  passionate. 
«  *  «  «  « 

But  the  officer  had  seen  the  obscure  fie- 
ure  of  Jean  Peyral  gazing  at  them  through 
the  open  door  with  blood-shot  eyes. 

He  said  not  a  word,  but  made  a  sign  to 
Cora  with  his  hand. 

The  spahi  stood  there,  transfixed,  im- 
movable ;  but  when  he  saw  that  he  was 
discovered,  he  retreated  hastily  into  the 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  55 

shadows.  Cora  suddenly  advanced  to- 
ward him,  her  countenance  distorted  with 
the  look  of  a  wild  animal.  She  frightened 
him;  she  was  near  enough  to  touch  him. 

Closing  the  door  with  a  gesture  of 
rage,  she  placed  across  it  a  bar  of  iron, 
and  all  was  over. 

This  mulattress,  the  grandchild  of  a 
slave,  was  miserably  disguised  as  an 
elegant  lady  of  gentle  birth ;  for  she  had 
neither  remorse,  fear,  nor  pity. 

After  awhile  Cora  and  her  lover  heard 
a  noise  as  of  a  body  falling  to  the  ground, 
falling  heavily,  making  a  great  noise  in 
the  silence  of  the  night ;  and  then,  to- 
ward morning,  a  sound  as  of  someone 
feeling  his  way  in  the  darkness. 

And  Jean  Peyral,  regaining  conscious- 
ness, raised  himself  up  and  crept  away, 
timidly,  confusedly,  in  the  gloom  of  the 
night 


56  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XII. 

Staggering  along  like  a  drunken  man, 
sinking  ankle-deep  in  the  sand  of  the  de- 
serted street,  Jean  went  as  far  as  Guet- 
n'dar,  the  negro  village  with  its  thou- 
sands of  thatched  roofs. 

In  the  darkness  he  stumbled  over  men 
and  women  asleep  on  the  ground,  wrap- 
ped in  ghostly  garments  of  white,  who 
appeared  to  his  excited  imagination  as 
phantom  people. 

He  rushed  blindly  along,  and  at  last 
found  himself  on  the  sea-shore. 

Hundreds  of  crabs,  crawling  about  on 
the  beach,  fled  at  the  sound  of  his  foot- 
steps. He  remembered  to  have  seen, 
once,  a  dead  body,  cast  up  on  the  sea- 
shore, torn  and  mangled  by  crabs,  and  a 
thrill  of  horror  seized  him  at  the  thought 
of  such  a  death. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  57 

The  breakers  and  the  surging  waves 
were  already  shining  in  the  first  gHmmer 
of  dawn.  They  had  for  him  a  peculiar 
fascination.  How  fresh  and  cool  they 
would  feel  to  his  burning  head  !  In  their 
beneficent  humidity  death  would  seem 
less  cruel. 

Then  he  thought  of  his  mother ;  of 
Jeanne,  the  little  friend  and  sweetheart  of 
his  boyhood,  and  he  no  longer  wished  to 
die. 

He  sank  upon  the  sands,  and  soon  fell 
into  a  deep,  unnatural  sleep. 


58  The  Romance  of  a  SpaliL 


XIII. 

It  had  been  daylight  three  hours;  but 
Jean  slept  on. 

He  dreamed  of  his  childhood  in  the 
forests  of  the  Cevennes  ;  he  was  a  child 
again,  roaming  with  his  mother  in  the 
shadows  of  the  grand  old  oaks,  where  the 
ground  was  covered  with  lichens  and 
tender  grass,  gathering  bluebells  and 
heather. 

*  «  «  «  * 

At  last  he  awoke  and  stared  around 
him,  bewildered.  The  sands  were  glow- 
ing in  the  heat  of  the  torrid  sun ;  black 
women  wended  their  way  over  the  burn- 
ing soil,  singing  strange  and  unfamiliar 
songs ;  great  vultures  passed  and  repassed 
in  the  air  above  him,  and  in  his  ears  was 
the  shrill  hissing  of  the  grasshoppers. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  59 

He  discovered  that  his  head  was  shel- 
tered from  the  burning  rays  of  the  sun  by 
an  awning  of  blue  cloth  supported  on 
sticks  driven  in  the  sand,  which  threw 
over  him,  with  its  fantastic  folds,  a  cool, 
gray  shadow. 

The  pattern  of  the  cloth  was  familiar 
to  him,  and  on  turning  his  head  he  per- 
ceived Fatou-gaye  sitting  near  him,  re- 
garding him  anxiously  with  her  great, 
dark  eyes. 

She  had  followed  him  and  improvised 
this  awning  as  a  protection  from  the  tor- 
rid heat;  it  was  her  holiday  dress  of 
bright  blue  cloth,  which  Jean  had  often 
seen  her  wear. 

She  had  crouched  there  a  long  time  in 
a  kind  of  ecstasy,  kissing  his  eyelids  softly 
when  she  could  do  so  unobserved — very 
softly,  for  fear  of  awakening  him,  for  then 
he  would  hasten  away,  and  she  would  no 
longer  have  him  there  to  herself  alone. 


6o  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

"  It  is  I,  white  man,"  she  said,  with  an 
air  of  tragic  seriousness,  and  in  an  incom- 
prehensible jargon.  "  I  have  done  this 
because  I  knew  that  the  sun  of  Saint 
Louis  was  not  good  for  the  toubab  of 
France.  I  know  well  there  was  another 
lover  who  came  to  see  her,  for  I  kept 
awake  all  night  to  listen.  I  was  hidden 
away  under  the  stair-way  among  the 
gourds,  and  when  you  fell  at  the  door  I 
saw  you,  and  when  you  went  away  I  fol- 
lowed you." 

Jean  looked  at  her  in  astonishment,  his 
eyes  full  of  gentleness  and  gratitude,  for 
he  was  deeply  touched. 

"  Do  not  speak  of  this,  little  Fatou," 
he  said  ;  "  but  return  quickly  to  your  mis- 
tress, and  I  will  go  to  the  barracks.  Do 
not  tell  anyone  you  found  me  lying  on 
the  shore." 

And  he  caressed  her  gently,  as  he  would 
scratch    the  neck  of  a  little  tame  kitten 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi,  6 1 

that  came  every  night  to  the  barracks  and 
curled  at  the  foot  of  his  bed. 

But  she,  thrilling  under  the  innocent 
caress,  lowered  her  head  and  drooped  her 
eyelids.  With  a  choking  sensation  in 
her  throat,  she  gathered  up  her  holiday 
garment,  folded  it  carefully,  and  went 
away,  trembling  with  joy. 


62  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XIV. 

Poor  Jean  !  suffering  was  a  new  thing 
to  him,  and  he  rebelled  against  the  un- 
known power  that  was  crushing  his  heart 
with  bands  of  iron. 

His  soul  was  filled  with  concentrated 
rage ;  rage  against  the  man  whom  he 
wished  to  destroy ;  rage  against  the 
woman  whom  he  lonofed  to  murder  with  a 
blow  from  his  whip  or  his  spur.  He  was 
consumed  with  an  intense  desire  for  re- 
venge. 

That  same  day  he  obtained  permission 
to  accompany  Nyaor-fall,  the  black  spahi, 
to  a  point  north  of  Saint  Louis,  in  the 
direction  of  the  Cape  of  Barbary,  to  ex- 
ercise their  horses. 

They  galloped  furiously  across  the  des- 
ert under  a  somber,  threatening  sky,  for 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  63 

in  that  country  the  winter  skies  are  fear- 
.ful  and  marvelous,  and  the  banks  of  black 
clouds  hang  so  low  on  the  horizon  that 
the  desert  beneath  them  has  the  appear- 
ance of  an  endless  waste  of  snow. 

As  the  two  spahis  rode  along,  their 
burnos  floating  behind  them  in  the 
breeze,  enormous  vultures  stalking  leis- 
urely about  on  the  sands  were  startled 
and  took  their  flij^ht,  describing  fantastic 
circles  in  the  air  above  them. 

At  nightfall  Jean  and  Nyaor  returned 
to  the  barracks,  weary  and  exhausted,  on 
jaded  steeds. 

The  next  morning,  after  the  excitement 
of  the  previous  day,  Jean  was  prostrated 
with  a  burning  fever,  and  they  laid  him, 
helpless  and  unconscious,  on  his  poor 
gray  mattress,  and  carried  him  to  the  hos- 
pital. 


64  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XV. 

Noon  !  The  great  hospital  is  as  silent 
as  the  grave. 

Noon  !  The  grasshopper  chirps  shrilly, 
and  the  Nubian  women,  with  plaintive 
voices,  sing  vague  and  dreamy  airs. 

On  all  the  desert  plains  of  the  Senegal 
the  vertical  rays  of  the  sun  beat  down 
fiercely,  and  the  great  horizons  dapple 
and  quiver  in  the  torrid  heat. 

Noon  !  The  hospital  is  as  silent  as  the 
grave. 

The  long  galleries  and  corridors  are 
empty.  A  clock  on  a  high,  white  wall 
marks,  with  slow-moving  hands,  the  mid- 
day hour.  Around  its  dim  and  faded  dial 
is  the  sad  inscription:  '"Vitcs  fugaces 
exhibet  koras.'^ 

The   twelve   strokes   of  the  weak  bell 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  65 

sound  feeble  and  muffled  in  the  hot  air, 
but  they  reach  the  ears  of  the  dying,  who, 
in  their  feverish  wakefulness,  imagine  it  is 
the  solemn  tolling  of  a  knell. 

Noon  !  The  mournful  hour  when  the 
sick  die ! 

In  an  open  chamber  on  the  upper  floor 
the  silence  of  death  reigns,  and  only 
whispered  words  are  spoken. 

There  is  no  perceptible  sound  except 
the  soft  footsteps  of  the  good  Sister 
Pacome  as  she  walks  lightly  on  the  mats, 
with  a  look  of  agitation  on  her  serious 
face,  which  is  so  pale  and  sallow  under 
her  great  white  cap.  A  physician  and  a 
priest  are  also  there,  sitting  near  a  bed 
which  is  draped  in  white  curtains. 

Through  the  open  windows  there  is 
nothing  to  be  seen  but  the  sun  and  the 
sand,  the  distant  blue  lines  of  the  bound- 
less horizons,  and  the  blazing  light. 

6 


66  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

Will  the  spahi  die?  Has  the  moment 
come  for  his  soul  to  take  its  flight  at  this 
stifling  hour  of  midday,  so  far  away  from 
home  and  his  mother? 

Where  will  he  find  a  resting-place  on 
these  desert  sands  ? 

No,  he  will  not  die  to-day  ;  the  doctor, 
who  has  waited  there  to  see  him  breathe 
his  last,  quietly  retires. 

Evening,  with  its  fresh,  invigorating 
breezes,  brings  relief  to  the  sick  and 
dying;  Jean  becomes  more  calm,  and  his 
fever  decreases. 

Crouching  before  the  door,  on  the 
street  below,  is  a  little  negress,  playing 
osselets  with  the  white  pebbles.  She  has 
been  there  since  morning,  dissimulating, 
for  fear  of  attracting  the  attention  of 
those  who  pass  by,  and  of  being  driven 
away.  She  was  afraid  to  make  inquiries, 
and  she  well  knew  that,  if  he  died,  his 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  67 

body  would  be  borne  through  that  door, 
over  yonder  to  the  lonely  cemetery  of 
Sorr. 


68  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XVI. 

For  a  week  longer  his  fever  continued, 
with  delirium  each  day  until  noon.  They 
awaited  anxiously  the  crisis,  and  at  last 
the  disease  was  vanquished,  and  the 
danger  past. 

Those  who  have  had  fever  on  the 
banks  of  the  Senegal  well  know  the  fearful 
hours  of  sleep  and  torpor  that  weigh  so 
heavily  on  the  sick  during  the  warm  mid- 
day hours. 

One  day,  just  before  noon,  Jean  fell 
into  a  kind  of  trance,  full  of  suffering  and 
confused  visions.  He  believed  that  he 
was  dying,  and  he  became  unconscious. 

At  four  o'clock  he  awoke  and  asked  for 
water.  The  visions  fled,  retreating  into 
the  distant  corners  of  the  room,  behind 
the  curtains,  then  vanished  entirely. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.  69 

He  no  longer  felt  as  if  they  were  pour- 
ing burning  lead  upon  his  head,  for  he 
was  better. 

Among  the  forms,  real  and  imaginary, 
smiling  and  grimacing,  that  floated  around 
him,  he  sometimes  saw  the  lover  of  Cora 
standing  at  his  bedside,  regarding  him 
with  a  look  of  pity  It  was  a  dream,  no 
doubt,  like  the  visions  he  had  of  his 
native  village  and  the  beloved  ones,  who 
stood  near  him  with  strange  miens  and 
distorted  faces. 

The  most  singular  thing  about  it  was 
that,  since  he  dreamed  he  saw  him  there, 
he  no  longer  hated  him. 

One  evening,  when  his  head  was  per- 
fectly clear  and  all  the  confused  visions 
had  vanished,  he  saw  standing  before  him, 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  the  young  officer, 
in  the  same  uniform  he  wore  that  nicrht  at 
the  house  of  Cora,  his  blue  sleeves  glitter- 
ing with  golden  stripes.     Jean   raised  his 


70  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

head  and  regarded  him  with  astonish- 
ment, at  the  same  time  extending  his 
feeble  arm  to  ascertain  if  there  really  was 
anyone  there. 

The  young  man,  seeing  that  he  was 
recognized,  instead  of  disappearing,  as  he 
generally  did,  took  the  hand  of  Jean,  and, 
pressing  it,  said,  simply,   "  Pardon." 

Tears,  the  first  that  he  had  shed  for 
years,  flowed  from  the  eyes  of  the  spahi, 
and  his  heart  felt  lighter. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  71 


XVII. 

His  convalescence  was  of  short  dura- 
tion ;  the  fever  once  conquered,  his  youth 
and  strength  soon  effected  his  recovery. 

But  he  could  not  forget,  and  at  times 
his  mental  anguish  was  intense.  He 
sometimes  indulged  in  foolish  thoughts  of 
vengeance,  and  he  became  almost  savage  ; 
but  these  moods  were  fleeting,  and  he 
would  say  to  himself  that  he  would  be 
willing  to  endure  almost  any  humiliation 
to  possess  Cora  as  before. 

The  officer  of  the  Marines,  his  new 
friend,  often  came  to  sit  at  his  bedside. 

He  spoke  to  Jean  very  gently,  as  he 
would  to  an  erring  child,  although  he  was 
scarcely  so  old  as  the  spahi. 

"Jean,"  he  said,  one  day,  "Jean,  you 
know  that  woman  ;  well,  if  it  will  make 


']2  The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi. 

you  calmer,  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor 
that  I  have  not  seen  her  since  the  niofht 
you  remember.  There  are  many  things 
in  the  world  of  which  you  yet  have  no 
knowledge — later  on  you  will  understand. 
You  will  also  understand  that  it  is  very 
foolish  to  grieve  over  so  small  a  matter. 
As  to  Cora,  I  wish  you  to  swear  to  me 
that  you  will  never  see  her  again." 

This  was  the  only  allusion  he  ever  made 
to  her,  and  Jean,  having  made  the  prom- 
ise, felt  less  wretched. 

Undoubtedly  there  were  many  things 
he  did  not  understand.  There  was  a  so- 
ciety advanced  far  beyond  his  knowledge  ; 
tranquil  and  refined  perversities  which  his 
imagination  had  never  pictured. 

And  he  soon  began  to  love  this  friend, 
who,  though  still  somewhat  of  a  mystery 
to  him,  was  so  kind  after  being  so  cynical, 
and  looked  at  things  with  such  an  air  of 
ease  and  indifference. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.  73 

He  had  come  to  offer  Jean  his  protec- 
tion because  of  the  anguish  he  had  caused 
him;  but  he  only  made  him  an  offer  of 
protection,  not  of  advancement ;  he  never 
touched  on  that,  and  Jean's  youthful 
heart  was  yet  filled  with  the  bitterness  of 
its  first  despair. 


74  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XVIII. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  at  the  house  of 
Dame  Virginie  Scolastique. 

The  cabaret  was  large  and  gloomy,  and, 
like  other  disreputable  places,  the  doors 
were  closed  and  secured  with  heavy  bars 
of  iron. 

A  little  fetid  lamp  threw  a  sickly  light 
upon  a  confused  mass  of  objects,  stirring 
about  painfully  in  an  atmosphere  redolent 
of  smoke,  absinthe,  musk,  and  spices. 

Upon  the  table  and  on  the  floor  were 
broken  glasses,  bottles,  and  various  gar- 
ments dragged  along  by  the  sabers  of  the 
spahis  in  a  sea  of  beer  and  alcohol. 

The  feast  had  been  joyous  and  the 
noise  uproarious;  but  now  it  was  over, 
both  song  and  tumult,  and  was  followed 
by  the  drowsiness  and  depression  which 
always  comes  after  hard  drinking. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.  75 

The  spahis  were  there  ;  some  of  them 
leaning  on  the  tables,  with  dull,  sunken 
eyes  and  beastly  smiles,  and  others,  more 
respectable,  striving  to  overcome  their 
drunkenness,  were  holding  their  heads  up 
proudly,  their  eyes,  full  of  an  iitexpressi- 
ble  gloom,  resting  gravely  on  the  scene. 

In  the  distance — if  one  had  listened — 
could  be  heard  the  cry  of  the  jackal  roam- 
ing around  the  cemetery  of  Sorr,  where 
many  among  the  revelers  there  alfeady 
had  their  places  marked  on  the  desert 
sands. 

Dame  Virginie  was  copper-colored  and 
thiclo'lipped,  and  around  her  head  was 
bc^und  a  Madras  handkerchief  of  gor- 
geous colors. 

She  was  drunk  also.  Lying  near  her  on 
the  floor  was  a  tall  young  spahi  of  a  fine, 
robust  figure,  and  hair  as  golden  as  ripe 
wheat.  He  was  unconscious,  and  on  his 
forehead  was  a  deep  gash.     Dame  Vir- 


76  The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi. 

ginie,  aided  by  a  black  slave,  was  spong- 
ing the  wound  with  cold  water  and  a  vin- 
egar compress.  Neither  pity  nor  sensi- 
bility prompted  her  to  do  this,  but  rather 
a  fear  of  the  police. 

She  was  greatly  disquieted,  for  the 
blood  continued  to  flow ;  it  had  already 
filled  a  dish,  and  as  it  could  not  be  ar- 
rested, fear  sobered  the  woman. 

Jean  was  there,  seated  in  one  corner  of 
the  room,  more  intoxicated  than  all  the 
rest;  yet  he  sat  upright  in  his  chair,  his 
eyes  fixed  and  gloomy.  It  was  he  who 
had  wounded  his  comrade  with  a  bar  of 
iron  snatched  from  the  door,  which  he 
still  held  in  his  clenched  hand,  unconscic^us 
of  the  blow  he  had  given. 

A  month  had  elapsed  since  his  recov- 
ery from  the  fever,  and  every  evening 
since  then  he  could  be  seen  dragging  him- 
self into  dens  of  iniquity,  in  the  first 
ranks  of  scoffers  and  debauches. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  77 

There  was  much  of  boyish  recklessness 
in  his  behavior,  it  is  true ;  nevertheless, 
he  had  run  a  terrible  course  since  the 
month  of  his  suffering. 

He  had  devoured  immoral  romances, 
where  all  was  new  to  his  imagination,  and 
otherwise  abandoned  himself  to  unhealthy 
extravagances,  completing  the  round  of 
revelry  and  dissipation  at  Saint  Louis, 
where  he  made  an  easy  conquest  of  every 
woman  with  whom  he  was  thrown,  his 
good  looks  assuring  him  possession  with- 
out resistance. 

And  then  he  began  to  drink. 

You  who  lead  domestic  lives,  seated 
peacefully  with  your  families  around  the 
fireside,  judge  them  not  harshly,  the  sail- 
ors, soldiers,  and  those  whom  destiny  has 
thrown,  with  their  ardent  natures,  into  ab- 
normal conditions  of  life,  upon  the  great 
seas  or  in  the  distant  countries  of  the  sun, 
amid  unheard-of  privations  and  influences 


yS  The  Romance  of  a  Spalii. 

of  which  you  know  nothing.  Judge  them 
not  harshly,  poor  exiles  ! 

Then  Jean  began  to  drink,  and  he 
drank  more  than  his  companions ;  he 
drank  terribly. 

Heretofore  he  had  remained  pure  and 
uncorrupted  in  spite  of  all  his  tempta- 
tions, and  he  still  retained  the  manners  of 
a  great,  untamed  boy.  When  the  pen- 
sioners of  Dame  Virginie  came  near 
enough  to  touch  him,  he  scattered  them 
with  the  end  of  his  whip  as  unclean  ani- 
mals, and  they  began  to  regard  him  as  a 
fetich  man,  whom  they  dared  not  ap- 
proach, and  the  miserable  little  creatures 
no  longer  attempted  to  beguile  him. 

He  was  terribly  savage  when  he  was 
intoxicated,  when  he  lost  his  head,  with 
that  great  physical  force  unchained. 

This  evening  he  had  been  startled  by  a 
random  word  about  one  of  his  amours — 
and  he  remembered  nothing  more,  but  sat 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  79 

there  immovable,  still  clutching  in  his 
hand  the  bloody  iron  bar. 

Suddenly  his  eyes  darted  lightning  ;  it 
was  the  old  hag  he  wanted  now,  and 
without  any  apparent  motive ;  but,  pos- 
sessed with  the  unbridled  racre  of  a 
drunken  man,  he  raised  himself  half-way 
from  his  chair,  furious  and  menacing. 

The  old  woman  uttered  a  hoarse  cry, 
and  for  a  moment  she  trembled  with  fear. 

"Hold  him!"  she  fairly  screamed  to 
the  drowsy  forms  of  those  who  were 
asleep  under  the  tables. 

Some  heads  were  raised,  and  one  lan- 
guid hand  attempted  to  hold  Jean  back 
by  his  coat,  but  this  help  was  not  suffi- 
cient. 

"  Give  me  something  to  drink,  old 
witch  !"  he  cried.  "Something  to  drink, 
old  night  hag!  Give  me  something  to 
drink,  1  say  !  " 

*'  Yes,    yes,"    she    replied,   in    a   voice 


8o  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

shaking  with  fear.  "Yes,  here  is  some- 
thing-  to  drink.  Bring-  me  some  absinthe 
quickly,  to  finish  him  —absinthe  dashed 
with  brandy." 

She  did  not  consider  expense  on  such 
occasions. 

Jean  drank  it  all  at  one  draught,  and 
dashing  the  glass  against  the  wall,  he  fell 
to  the  floor  like  a  thunderbolt. 

"  That  finished  him !"  chuckled  the 
old  woman;  "there  is  no  danger  in  him 
now." 

She  was  very  strong,  this  old  Virginie 
Scolastique,  and  solidly  built ;  and  being 
sobered  all  at  once,  with  the  assistance  of 
a  black  slave  and  the  little  negresses,  she 
lifted  Jean,  an  inanimate  lump.  After 
having  searched  his  pockets  in  order  to 
take  from  them  the  last  pieces  of  silver, 
she  opened  the  door  and  threw  him  out. 

Jean  fell  heavily  to  the  ground,  his  arms 
outstretched  on  the  sands. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  8i 

Then  the  old  hag,  vomiting  a  torrent  of 
vituperation,  slammed  to  the  door,  which 
closed  with  a  horrible,  grating  noise. 

And  all  was  silent.  The  wind  blew 
mournfully  from  the  direction  of  the  cem- 
etery, and  the  only  sounds  to  break  the 
great  calm  of  midnight  were  the  lugubri- 
ous yells  of  the  jackals  in  a  sinister  con- 
cert over  the  resurrected  bodies  of  the 
dead. 


The  Romance  of  a  SpaJii. 


XIX. 

FRANCOISE    PEYRAL    TO    HER    SON. 

My  Dear  Jean  :  We  have  received  no  response 
to  our  last  letter,  and  Peyral  says  it  has  been  a 
long  time  since  we  have  heard  from  you.  I  can 
see  that  he  suffers  greatly  each  day  when  Toinon 
passes  by  with  his  mail-box  and  says  there  is 
nothing  for  us.  I  also  feel  great  anxiety,  but  I 
always  believe  that  the  good  God  will  take  care  of 
you,  my  dear  son,  for  I  pray  to  Him  very  often  that 
He  will  allow  no  misfortune  to  befall  you. 

Your  father  says  he  understands  how  it  is,  be- 
cause he  was  in  the  army,  and  that  he  has  seen 
rough  roads  for  young  men  who  are  not  prudent 
in  their  selection  of  companions,  and  who  allow 
themselves  to  be  led  into  drinking.  And  he  warns 
you  against  association  with  wicked  women,  who 
will  surely  bring  you  to  grief  in  the  end.  I  say 
this  to  please  your  father;  as  for  myself,  1  am  sure 
that  my  dear  boy  is  prudent,  and  that  he  has 
something  in  his  heart  which  will  keep  him  aloof 
from  all  such  evils. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi,  83 

Next  month  I  think  we  will  be  able  to  send 
you  a  little  money,  for  I  know  in  that  country 
one  has  to  pay  a  great  deal  for  trifling  things; 
and  I  am  sure  you  will  not  spend  the  money  reck- 
lessly after  your  father  has  gone  to  so  much  trouble 
to  obtain  it.  As  for  myself,  the  wants  of  women 
are  few;  I  speak  for  him  only. 

We  talk  of  you  every  evening  as  we  sit  under 
the  chestnut  tree;  we  rarely  ever  spend  a  day  that 
your  name  is  not  mentioned. 

The  neighbors  send  you  good  wishes. 

My  dear   son,  your  father  and  I  embrace  you 
affectionately.     May  the  good  God  protect  you. 
Your  mother, 

Francoise  Peyral. 

When  Jean  received  this  letter  he  was 
in  the  prison  of  the  barracks,  where  he 
was  confined  for  drunkenness. 

Fortunately,  the  wound  inflicted  on  the 
head  of  the  blonde  soldier  had  not  proved 
serious,  and  neither  the  wounded  man 
nor  his  comrades  wished  to  denounce 
Jean. 

His  clothes  were  blood-stained,  his  shirt 


84  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

in  tatters,  and  in  his  head  there  were  still 
the  fumes  of  alcohol.  A  mist  was  before 
his  eyes,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  he 
read  the  letter. 

Between  him  and  the  pure  affections  of 
his  childhood  there  was  now  a  dark 
shadow  ;  this  shadow  was  Cora — his  pas- 
sion, his  despair.  He  had  some  moments 
of  oblivion,  and  then  it  was  he  could  think 
with  happiness  of  other  days. 

The  poor,  confiding  letter  touched  his 
heart ;  he  kissed  it  fervently,  and  began  to 
weep. 

Then  he  swore  he  would*  never  drink 
again;  and  as  the  habit  had  not  yet  ^ 
strong  hold  on  him,  it  was  easily  broken. 

He  never  drank  again. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  85 


XX. 

Several  days  after  this,  an  unforeseen 
circumstance  brought  a  happy  and  salu- 
tary diversion  into  the  life  of  Jean  Peyral. 

An  order  was  given  for  the  spahis  to 
establish  themselves — men  and  horses — 
for  a  change  of  air  in  encampment  at 
Dialambam,  several  miles  south  of  Saint 
Louis,  near  the  mouth  of  the  river. 

On  the  day  of  their  departure,  Fatou- 
gaye  came  to  the  barracks,  gaily  attired 
in  her  bright  blue  holiday  garment,  to  say 
farewell  to  Jean,  and  he  embraced  her, 
kissing  her  gently  on  her  two  little  black 
cheeks. 

And  at  night-fall  they  started  on  the 
march. 

As  for  Cora,  after  the  first  moments  of 
rage  and  excitement   were  over,  she  re- 


86  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

gretted'  her  lovers,  for  in  truth  she  had 
loved  them  both.  The  two  Jeans  ap- 
pealed equally  to  her  senses  ;  treated  as  a 
divinity  by  Jean  Peyral,  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  by  the  officer  as  a  pretty  girl. 

But  no  one  witnessed  her  mortification, 
for  she  was  never  aorain  seen  at  Saint 
Louis  strolling  along  the  sands.  One 
day  she  went  away  secretly — sent  by  her 
husband  on  an  official  errand  to  a  factory 
far  away,  south  of  Saint  Louis. 

F'atou-gaye  had  undoubtedly  gossiped, 
and  the  last  escapade  of  the  woman  Cora 
created  at  Saint  Louis  a  profound  sensa- 
tion. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         87 


XXI. 

One  calm  night  toward  the  end  of  Feb- 
ruary— a  real  winter  night,  clear  and  cold, 
after  a  day  of  burning  heat — the  column 
of  spahis,  en  route  for  Dialambam,  crossed 
the  plains  of  Legbar. 

They  were  straggling  at  their  own 
pleasure,  and  Jean  lingered  in  the  rear, 
walking  along  tranquilly  in  company  with 
his  friend  Nyaor-fall. 

The  Sahara  and  the  Soudan  both  have 
cold  nights,  which  are  even  more  brilliant 
and  transparent  than  the  winter  nights  in 
France. 

A  deep  silence  rested  on  the  whole 
country.  The  heavens,  as  blue  as  sap- 
phire, were  profound  and  mysterious. 
Myriads  of  stars  twinkled  in  the  blue 
depths  of  the  skies,  and  all  objects  were 


88  The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi. 

defined  with  a  wonderful  accuracy  in  the 
silver  moonlight. 

In  the  distance,  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
see,  were  great  marshes  covered  with  a 
dreary  vegetation  of  mangroves.  So  it  is 
in  the  whole  country  of  Africa,  from  the 
left  banks  of  the  river  Senegal  to  the 
inaccessible  confines  of  Guinea. 

Sirius  rose,  the  moon  was  in  its  zenith, 
and  the  silence  was  overwhelming^. 

The  great  euphorbias  lifted  their 
branches  heavenward,  mingling  their 
shadows  with  the  shadows  of  the  lesser 
plants  on  the  ruddy  sands.  Scattered 
here  and  there  were  clumps  of  stunted 
trees  and  pools  of  stagnant  water,  over 
which  floated  thick,  white  vapors.  The 
scene  was  full  of  mysterious  immobility. 

The  air  was  heavy  with  the  odors  from 
the  great  marshes,  and  at  this  hour  of  the 
night  the  miasma  of  fever  is  most  subtle 
and  fatal. 


The  Rotnance  of  a  Spahi.  89 

Everywhere  along  the  route  were  scat- 
tered ghastly  skeletons,  the  decaying  bod- 
ies of  camels  bathed  in  a  black  and  fetid 
blood,  lying  there  in  the  moonlight,  dis- 
playing their  hideous,  mangled  carcasses, 
torn  and  disemboweled  by  the  vultures. 

From  time  to  time  they  heard  the 
plaintive  cry  of  the  marsh-bird,  the  only 
sound  amid  an  awful  calm. 

On  every  side  the  baobabs  stretched 
out  their  massive  branches,  like  great 
bowlders  or  trees  of  stone.  The  moon 
shone  on  these  rigid  structures  with  a  sad 
cheerlessness,  giving  them  the  appearance 
of  objects  cold  and  petrified.  Whole 
families  of  vultures  were  perched  upon 
the  polished  branches,  fast  asleep,  their 
large  folded  wings  gleaming  in  the  moon- 
light with  a  blue  metallic  luster. 

They  permitted  Jean  to  approach  them 
and  touch  them  as  if  they  were  be- 
witched. 


90  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

At  two  o'clock  there  was  a  strange 
concert  of  voices,  as  of  dogs  baying  the 
moon,  but  something  more  lugubrious 
and  funereal. 

In  Saint  Louis,  at  the  dead  of  night, 
Jean  had  often  heard,  such  groans  in  the 
distance  ;  but  this  evening  it  seemed  they 
were  there  close  to  him  in  the  bushes,  the 
weird  yelping  of  the  jackal  mingling  with 
the  sharp  cry  of  the  hyena.  It  was  a 
combat  between  two  roving  bands  in  their 
raids  on  the  bodies  of  the  camels. 

"What  is  that?"  demanded  Jean  of 
Nyaor.  A  horrible  presentiment  oppressed 
his  heart,  and  a  cold  chill  crept  over  him. 

"Those  who  are  dead,"  answered  Nyaor,  • 
with    an    expressive  wave   of   the   hand. 
"  Those  who  die  on  land  are  sought  out 
by  these  beasts  and  eaten  by  them." 

And  as  he  said  "  eaten  by  them,"  he 
gnawed  his  black  arm  with  his  shining 
white  teeth. 


The  Romavce  of  a  Spahi.  91 

Jean  comprehended  and  trembled  ;  and 
ever  after  that,  each  time  he  heard  in  the 
night  those  mournful,  weird  voices,  he 
remembered  this  explanation,  the  graphic 
description  of  the  mimicking  Nyaor. 

And  he,  who  in  the  daylight  feared 
nothing,  shuddered  with  the  vague  and 
gloomy  fear  of  a  superstitious  mountaineer. 

At  last  the  voices  died  away  in  the 
distance,  now  and  then  sounding  faintly 
from  some  other  point  on  the  horizon,  and 
then  ceasing  altogether. 

The  milky  vapor  thickened  over  the  still 
waters,  the  dew  began  to  fall,  and  the 
damp  air  from  the  marshes  was  cold  and 
penetrating. 

Dawn  approached,  the  moon  sunk  be- 
hind the  western  horizon,  and  solitude  op- 
pressed the  heart.  Finally  there  appeared 
low  on  the  horizon  the  pointed  roofs  of 
the  village  of  Dialambam,  where  to-mor- 
row the  spahis  would  pitch  their  tents. 


92  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XXII. 

Around  the  encampment  of  Dialam- 
bam  were  great  marshes  filled  with  stag- 
nant waters,  and  arid  plains  where  the 
stunted  mimosa  grew  in  profusion. 

Jean  often  took  long,  solitary  strolls 
with  his  gun  upon  his  shoulder,  hunting 
sometimes,  and  then  again  dreaming  in 
the  vague  reveries  of  a  mountaineer. 

And  he  also  loved  to  take  his  canoe  to 
ascend  the  yellow  waters,  losing  himself 
in  the  mazes  of  the  Senegal. 

In  the  wide  marshes  there  were  pools 
of  warm  and  tranquil  waters,  sleeping  there 
unruffled  under  the  blazing  sun.  On  their 
banks  the  soil  was  treacherous  and  inac- 
cessible to  the  foot  of  man. 

White  aigrettes  walked  gravely  in  the 
depths  of  the  monotonous  verdure  of  the 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  93 

humid  mangroves,  and  great,  hissing 
lizards  crawled  in  the  mud.  Water-lilies 
and  white  and  red  lotus-flowers  bloomed 
there  in  the  heat  of  the  tropical  sun,  for 
the  delight  of  the  alligator. 

And   Jean   Peyral  began    to    love   this 
country.  '- 


94  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XXTII. 

The  month  of  May  arrived. 

The  spahis  began  joyously  to  fold  up 
their  bag^gage  and  pull  down  their  tents, 
collecting  their  possessions  with  energetic 
ardor. 

For  they  were  about  to  return  to  Saint 
Louis,  to  the  great  white  barracks,  which 
had  been  repaired  and  repainted  in  their 
absence.  They  were  going  to  resume 
their  old  pleasures — to  find  again  their 
sweethearts  and  their  absinthe. 

The  month  of  May  !  In  France  this  is 
the  beautiful  month  of  verdure  and  of 
flowers,  but  in  the  sad  country  of  Dialam- 
bam  there  is  nothing  suggestive  of  spring- 
time. The  trees,  herbs,  and  all  vegeta- 
tion that  does  not  grow  in  the  muddy 
waters  of  the  marshes  are  withered  and 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  95 

lifeless,  for  not  a  drop  of  water  falls  in 
this  country  for  six  months,  and  the  soil 
is  dry  and  parched. 

Then  the  temperature  rises,  the  even- 
ing breezes  cease;  the  winter  season  is 
over,  and  spring-time  arrives  with  its  sul- 
try heat  and  torrents  of  rain.  This  is  the 
season  of  the  year  regarded  with  fear  by 
the  Europeans  on  the  Senegal,  because  it 
brings  lassitude,  fever,  and  often  death. 

It  is  necessary  to  live  in  this  country  of 
thirst  to  appreciate  the  indescribably  de- 
licious sensation  one  feels  at  being  wet  to 
the  skin  by  the  large  drops  in  the  first 
wave  of  the  storm  in  the  first  rain-fall. 

And  the  first  tornado !  In  the  immobile, 
sombre  sky  there  is  a  kind  of  leaden  dome, 
and  a  strange  signe  du  del  rises  above  the 
horizon.  The  clouds  assume  fearful  and 
fantastic  forms,  bringing  to  mind  the 
eruption  of  a  mighty  volcano — the  explo- 
sion of  a  world. 


96  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

Then  they  form  themselves  into  grand 
arcs,  rising  one  above  the  other;  and  then 
again  the  dark,  heavy  masses  of  clouds  col- 
lect, resembling  vaults  of  stone  that  seem 
about  to  fall  on  the  world  to  crush  it. 

Artists  who  paint  the  deluge,  the  cata- 
clysm of  a  primitive  world,  have  not  de- 
picted objects  more  grotesque,  nor  skies 
more  terrible. 

Suddenly  there  bursts  from  the  clouds 
a  terrific  rain-storm ;  the  trees  are  lashed 
as  with  whips ;  the  leaves,  the  birds  and 
vultures  are  blown  about  in  a  furious 
gale.  Everything  in  the  path  of  the 
storm  is  overturned  ;  the  tornado  is  un- 
chained ;  nature  is  convulsed ;  it  is  like 
the  passage  of  a  frightful  meteor. 

The  cataracts  of  heaven  are  poured 
down  upon  the  earth,  the  wind  blows  a 
terrific  gale,  and  the  ground  is  covered 
with  a  debris  of  branches,  birds,  and 
flowers. 


The  Roinance  of  a  Spa  hi.  97 

But  suddenly  the  fury  of  the  storm  is 
allayed;  the  last  blasts  of  the  gale  chase 
from  the  skies  the  dull,  copper-colored 
clouds,  and  sweep  away  the  tattered  rags 
of  the  tempest;  the  meteor  has  passed, 
and  the  heavens  become  pure,  blue,  and 
immobile. 

The  first  tornado  surprised  the  spahis 
en  route  to  Saint  Louis,  and,  breaking 
ranks,  they  soon  became  a  noisy,  joyous 
band,  running  toward  the  village  of  Tour- 
oukambe  in  great  disorder. 

The  women  beating  the  millet,  the  chil- 
dren playing  in  the  bushes,  the  pilfering 
fowls,  the  dogs  sleeping  in  the  sun,  all  ran 
to  the  huts  precipitately,  and  crowded 
under  the  pointed  roofs. 

These  huts — already  too  small — were 
invaded  by  the  spahis  also,  who  walked 
right  in,  stumbling  over  the  gourds,  upset- 
ting the  Kouss-Kouss. 

Their  horses,  haltered  near  by,  rushed 
7 


98  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

about  frantically,  neighing  and  pawing 
the  ground  with  fright ;  the  dogs  yelped; 
the  goats,  sheep,  and  all  the  domestic  ani- 
mals of  the  village  ran  to  the  doors,  bleat- 
ing, yelping,  leaping,  endeavoring  to  push 
their  way  in  with  their  horns,  claiming 
their  share  of  shelter  and  protection. 

The  cries,  the  screams,  the  bursts  of 
negro  laughter,  the  hissing  noise  of  the 
tempestuous  wind,  and  the  thunder 
drowning  all  with  its  formidable  artillery, 
made  a  wild,  discordant  tumult;  a  grand 
confusion  under  a  black  and  raging  sky ; 
darkness  at  midday,  with  only  a  rift  of 
light  now  and  then,  from  a  flash  of  light- 
ning. 

When  the  tornado  had  passed,  and 
order  was  restored,  the  spahis  started 
forth  on  the  beaten  path,  refreshed  by  the 
rain  and  the  rest  by  the  wayside. 

Soft,  little  clouds  floated  above  them  in 
the  clear,  blue  heavens,  curling  and  twist- 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  99 

ing  like  airy  vapories,  then  fading  away 
in  the  distant  blue  ether. 

Strong  odors  rose  from  the  moistened 
earth ;  Nature  was  beginning  her  rejuve- 
nation. 


lOO         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XXIV. 

Fatou-gaye  lingered  at  the  entrance  of 
Saint  Louis  for  many  hours,  that  the  ar- 
rival of  the  troops  might  not  escape  her. 

When  she  saw  Jean  pass,  she  saluted 
him  with  a  discreet  '' Keoti"  (good-day), 
accompanied  by  a  graceful  little  courtesy, 
for  she  did  not  wish  to  disturb  him  in 
ranks.  She  had  the  good  taste  to  wait 
two  long  hours  before  she  went  to  see 
him  at  the  barracks. 

She  had  changed  greatly ;  in  three 
months  she  had  developed  suddenly,  like 
the  plants  in  her  own  country. 

She  no  longer  demanded  coppers,  and 
she  had  acquired  a  certain  graceful  timid- 
ity so  becoming  to  young  girls. 

A  bon-bon  of  white  muslin  now  covered 
her  shapely  form,  as  was  customary  with 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         lOi 

girls  of  a  marriageable  age,  and  she  was 
highly  perfumed  with  musk  and  soumere. 

Scattered  over  her  head  were  innumer- 
able little  tight  curls,  for  she  had  permitted 
her  hair  to  grow  that  she  might  go  at  an 
early  day  to  a  practiced  hair-dresser,  who 
would  arrange  it  in  the  elaborate  head- 
dress which  alwavs  adorns  the  heads  of 
African  ^yomen. 

At  present  it  was  too  short,  so  it  lay 
in  curled  and  disheveled  masses,  which 
changed  her  looks  entirely,  and  from  being 
comical  and  savage,  she  had  become  grace- 
ful and  almost  charming. 

In  her  tout-ensemble  were  blended  the 
child,  the  young  girl,  and  the  black  imp ; 
a  very  fantastic  little  person ! 

"  She  is  pretty,  that  little  Fatou-gaye  ; 
don't  you  think  so,  Peyral?"  laughingly 
remarked  the  spahis. 

Jean  had  discovered  that  she  was  pretty, 
but  it  mattered  little  to  him. 


I02  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

The  months  of  calm  and  reflection 
which  he  enjoyed  during  encampment 
had  a  most  salubrious  efl^ect  on  him  in 
every  way.  He  had  by  degrees  recovered 
his  moral  equilibrium,  and  the  images  of 
his  old  parents  and  his  betrothed  had 
regained  all  their  honorable  charm  and 
former  empire. 

He  entirely  abandoned  his  reckless 
habits,  and  he  could  not  now  understand 
how  Dame  Virginie  Scolastique  had  ever 
counted  him  among  her  clients. 

Not  only  had  he  sworn  never  to  drink 
absinthe,  but  also  to  remain  faithful  to 
Jeanne  Mery. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         103 


XXV. 

When  Jean  took  his  twilight  strolls  he 
often  encountered  Fatou-gaye  on  the  way, 
her  hair,  which  had  grown  very  quickly, 
standing  out  from  her  head  like  the  wool 
on  a  black  sheep. 

Formerly,  during  the  first  months  of  his 
life  in  Africa,  he  had  regarded  the  black 
population  with  disgust.  In  his  eyes  they 
all  had  the  appearance  of  monkeys,  and 
beneath  that  oily,  polished  ebony  he  had 
never  been  able  to  recognize  one  from 
another.  But  after  awhile  he  grew  ac- 
customed to  their  faces,  and  he  could 
distinguish  them.  When  he  saw  the 
young  black  girls  passing  by,  adorned 
with  trinkets  and  silver  bracelets  he  com- 
pared them,  pronouncing  this  one  pretty, 
that    one     ugly,   this    one   graceful    and 


104         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi, 

charming,  and  that  one  savage ;  in  fact, 
they  were  no  longer  repulsive  to  him. 

Jean  often  visited  his  friend  Nyaor  at 
Guet-n'dar,  and  the  scenes  of  the  interior 
of  a  Jaloff  hut,  of  a  life  in  common, 
troubled  him  greatly,  and  made  him  feel 
more  keenly  than  ever  his  exile  in  that 
accursed  land,  where  he  was  entirely  iso- 
lated from  his  kind. 

He  often  dreamed  of  her  whom  he  had 
loved  with  the  chaste  love  of  his  boyhood 
— of  Jeanne  Mery.  Alas!  he  had  only  been 
six  months  in  Africa,  and  almost  as  many 
years  must  elapse  ere  he  returned. 

He  sometimes  felt  that  he  would  not 
have  the  courage  to  live  alone,  with  no 
companion  to  make  the  years  of  his  exile 
endurable. 

There  was  Fatou-gaye,  but  what  a  prof- 
anation of  himself !  He  would  then  be 
no  better  than  his  comrades,  the  clients 
of  old  Virginie! 


The  Romance  of  a  Spaki.        105 

For  he  possessed  a  kind  of  dignity,  an 
instinctive  modesty  which  had  preserved 
him  from  all  corrupting  influences,  and  his 
soul  revolted  at  the  thought  of  descend- 
ing so  low. 


io6         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XXVI. 

He  continued  his  long  evening  walks, 
though  the  heavy  rains  had  begun  to  fall. 

The  wide  marshes  were  filled  with  fetid, 
stagnant  waters,  and  a  rank,  herbaceous 
vegetation  covered  the  face  of  the  earth. 
Even  the  light  of  the  sun  was  pale  from 
excessive  heat  and  deleterious  exhalations, 
and  fever  and  miasma  were  each  day  gain- 
ing on  the  land. 

Often  at  sunset,  when  Jean  was  alone 
amid  these  desolate  scenes,  his  heart  was 
oppressed  with  an  unaccountable  melan- 
choly ;  there  was  something  in  the  aspect 
of  nature  in  that  gloomy  and  abnormal 
country  that  paralyzed  him. 

At  the  hour  of  twilight  these  African 
marshes  have  a  sadness  which  can  never 
be  expressed  in  any  human  language. 

The  eternal  gloom  of  the  land  of  Ham 
rests  on  all  things. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         107 


XXVII. 

June  is  ever  the  ideal  marriage  month. 

Often,  during  these  enervating  even- 
ings, Jean  would  meet  nuptial  corteges 
filing  their  way  across  the  yellow  sands 
in  long,  fantastic  processions.  They  all 
sang,  and  the  chorus  of  voices — most  of 
them  in  a  fine,  apish  treble — was  always 
accompanied  by  a  contretemps — a  beat- 
ing of  hands  and  blows  on  the  tam-tam. 

The  songs  at  these  negro  celebrations 
were  always  suggestive  of  a  gross  and 
voluptuous  sensuality. 

June  !  It  was  indeed  spring-time,  but 
the  spring-time  of  Africa,  fleeting  and 
feverish,  with  enervating  odors  and  op- 
pressive storms. 

It  was  the  return  of  butterflies,  of 
birds,  of  life.  Humming-birds  doffed 
their  robes  of  gray  and  resumed  the  gor- 


io8         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

geous  colors  of  summer  ;  all  had  become 
green,  as  if  by  enchantment ;  soft,  warm 
shadows  fell  from  the  light  foliage  of  the 
trees  and  herbs  on  the  moist  soil. 

The  mimosa,  flowering  in  profusion, 
resembled  enormous  bouquets  ;  birds  flit- 
ted airily  among  the  large  tufts  of  orange 
blossoms,  singing  low,  sweet  notes. 

Even  the  clumsy  baobab  was  reclothed 
in  a  fresh  foliage  of  pale  and  tender 
greer\. 

The  large,  odorous  blossoms  of  the 
datura,  moistened  by  the  light  showers, 
yielded  their  sweetest  perfumes,  and  from 
the  tops  of  the  plants  "fire-flies  twinkled 
with  phosphorescent  scintillations. 

Nature  was  in  great  haste  to  rejuve- 
nate, and  in  eight  days  she  had  accom- 
plished it  all. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.          109 


XXVIII. 

"  Anamalis  fobil ! "  howl  the  griots, 
fiercely  striking  the  tam-tam,  their  eyes 
inflamed,  muscles  distended,  and  the 
sweat  streaming  down  their  distorted 
bodies. 

And  they  all  repeat,  clapping  their 
hands  in  a  frenzy,  "Anamalis  fobil! 
Anamalis  fobil !  '• 

These  are  the  first  words,  th^  predomi- 
nant refrain,  in  that  mad,  devilish  chant 
teeming  with  passion  and  voluptuousness 
— the  chant  of  the  spring-time  bamboula. 

"Anamalis  fobil!"  they  all  cry  in  a 
frenzy  of  passion. 

It  is  the  alleluia  of  negro  love,  the  se- 
ductive song  full  of  nature,  of  the  air,  the 
earth,  the  perfumes  of  flowers. 

At    the    spring-time     bamboula,    the 


no         The  Romance  of  a  Spaki. 

young  boys  and  girls,  attired  with  great 
splendor  in  their  nuptial  robes,  mingle 
freely  together,  dancing  on  the  sands, 
wildly  singing  in  a  mad  rhythm,  "Ana- 
malis  fobil ! " 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         1 1 1 


XXIX. 

Anamalis  fobil !  The  milk-white  buds 
on  the  great  baobabs  had  burst  into  a 
tender  foliage. 

Jean  felt  the  African  spring-time  burn- 
ing in  his  blood;  it  ran  like  poison  through 
his  veins. 

The  sap  that  rose  in  the  plants  was 
empoisoned,  the  flowers  were  full  of  dan- 
gerous perfumes,  the  beasts  were  fierce, 
the  reptiles  venomous. 

The  voluptuous  delights  of  life  in  this 
new  season  of  the  year  were  new  to  him, 
and  the  fire  of  youth — for  he  was  on,ly 
twenty-two  years  old  —  burned  within 
him,  and  he  felt  that  it  would  consume 
him. 

Anamalis  fobil !  how  quickly  time  was 
flying!     June  was  almost  gone,  and  al- 


112  The  Romance  of  a  Spain. 

ready  in  the  vital  heat  the  foliage  was 
turning  yellow,  the  plants  were  dying,  and 
the  over-ripe  fruit  was  falling  to  the 
ground. 

Anamalis  fobil !  There  is  a  certain 
kind  of  bitter  fruit  in  that  hot  country — 
the  gourous  of  the  Senegal,  for  instance — 
which  in  our  temperate  latitudes  would 
be  detestable,  but  which  obtained  there 
when  one  is  suffering  from  thirst,  is 
eagerly  coveted  and  is  strangely  sweet. 
.  .  .  And  so  this  little  black  creature, 
with  skin  as  smooth  as  marble,  and  her 
dark,  enameled  eyes  already  lowered  be- 
neath the  gaze  of  Jean — this  savory  fruit 
of  the  Soudan,  mellowing  prematurely  in 
the  sensuous,  tropical  spring-time — was 
full  of  intoxicating  sweets,  and  untasted, 
unhealthy  delights. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         1 1 3 


XXX. 

Anamalis  fobil !  Jean  with  great  haste, 
but  a  little  abstractedly,  was  making  his 
evening  toilet. 

That  morning  he  had  requested  Fatou- 
gaye  to  meet  him  at  twilight  beneath  a 
certain  great,  isolated  baobab  in  the 
marshes  of  Sorr. 

And  now,  before  going,  he  leaned  out 
of  the  window  to  collect  his  thoughts,  if 
possible,  while  he  breathed  the  fresh  air 
of  evening. 

He  trembled  at  what  he  was  about  to 
do.  For  several  days  he  had  resisted  the 
complicated  feeling  struggling  within 
him,  for,  with  the  instinctive  horror  and 
dread  of  a  superstitious  mountaineer,  he 
had  a  vague  fear  of  those  charms  and 
amulets,  lest  their  enchantment  might 
hold  him  forever  in  a  gloomy  bondage. 


114         ^-^^  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

He  felt  that  he  was  about  to  step 
across  the  fatal  threshold  to  sign  a  fune- 
real compact  with  the  black  race,  and 
that  dark  shadows  were  descending  which 
would  separate  him  forever  from  the  be- 
loved ones  so  far  away. 

A  warm  twilight  fell  along  the  river, 
the  old  white  city  gleamed  for  a  moment 
in  its  rosy  lights,  and  then  the  purple 
shadows  deepened.  Long  files  of  camels 
took  their  way  across  the  sands,  going 
northward.  Already  the  clash  of  the 
tam-tam  could  be  heard  in  the  distance, 
and  the  griots  singing  in  a  frenzy,  "An- 
amalis  fobil !     Faramati  hi ! " 

The  hour  appointed  for  the  meeting 
with  Fatou-gaye  had  nearly  passed,  and 
Jean  hastened  to  join  her  on  the  marshes 
of  Sorr. 

Over  these  strange  nuptials  the  lonely 
baobab  threw  its  deepest  shadows,  and 
the  heavens,  which  hung  like  a  great  yel- 


The  Romance  of  a  Spain.         1 1 5 

low  vault  above  them,  were  sad,  motion- 
less, and  oppressive,  charged  with  elec- 
tricity, terrestrial  emanations,  and  vital 
substances. 

To  paint  these  nuptials,  it  would  take 
colors  so  warm  and  glowing  that  no 
palette  could  furnish  the  like. 

It  would  take  African  words  and 
sounds,  and,  above  all  that,  silence  !  It 
would  take  all  the  perfumes  of  the  Sene- 
gal, its  tempests  and  burning  heats,  its 
most  transparent  lights,  its  darkest  shad- 
ows, and  the  great,  solitary  baobab  in  the 
depths  of  the  marshes  of  Sorr  ! 

Jean,  though  intoxicated  with  delight, 
felt  a  thrill  of  horror  when  he  saw  there 
so  near  to  him  the  gleam  of  those  brill- 
iant, enameled  eyes. 

Bats  flew  noiselessly  above  them  in  a 
flight  as  soft  and  gentle  as  the  flutter  of  a 
silken  scarf.  They  approached  very  close 
to  them ;  their  curiosity  was  excited,  for 


1 1 6         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

Fatou-gaye  wore  a  robe   of  white  which 
trailed  on  the  rosy  herbs, 

Anamalis  fobil  !     Faramati  hi ! 


PART  II. 

T 
1. 

Three  years  have  passed.     .     . 

Three  times  have  the  terrible  wind  and 
spring  returned  ;  three  times  the  saison  de 
la  soif,  with  its  chilly  nights  and  desert 
winds. 

Jean  sleeps  upon  his  tara  in  the  airy 
upper  apartment  of  the  house  of  Samba- 
Hamet  ;  near  him  lies  his  wolf-dog, 
thirsty  and  motionless,  tongue  hanging 
out,  and  nose  on  its  paws,  in  the  attitude 
and  with  the  expression  of  the  sacred 
jackals  in  Egyptian  temples. 

It  is  noon — the  dreamy,  silent  hour  of 
the  siesta — and  warm,  warm,  strangely 
warm,  like  the  oppressive  days  of  sultry 
July  ;   yet  it  is  a  day  in  December,  and 

the  wind,  blowing  gently  across  the  sands, 

(iir) 


1 1 8         The  Rommice  df  a  Spahi. 

gives  them  an  undulating  motion,  as  if 
there  were  thousands  and  thousands  of 
minute  waves  upon  the  great  mer-sanseau. 

Fatou-gaye,  resting  on  her  elbows,  re- 
clines upon  the  floor,  as  nude  as  a  statue 
(costume  of  the  interior),  her  polished, 
black  limbs  lying  in  curves  of  exquisite 
grace.  Her  hair  was  arranged  in  a  most 
extraordinary  head-dress,  adorned  with 
amber  and  coral. 

All  is  silent  around  the  house  of  Sam- 
ba-Hamet,  save  for  an  almost  impercepti- 
ble rustling  of  flies  and  the  slight  noise  of 
the  sands  which  are  blown  in  blinding 
gusts  against  the  house.  Jean  has  almost 
fallen  asleep  listening  to  the  low,  croon- 
ing songs  of  Fatou-gaye,  who  sang  airs 
she  had  never  heard,  but  which  neverthe- 
less were  not  original.  They  were  her 
own  dreamy,  passionate  reveries,  trans- 
lating themselves  into  musical  sounds, 
strange  and  somnolent ;  a  kind  of  reflex 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         1 1 9 

action — an  effect  produced  upon  the  brain 
by  all  the  overwhelming  force  of  circum- 
stances. 

Peace  had  been  restored  between  Jean 
•  and   Fatou-gaye :  Jean   had   forgiven,  as 
he  always  did,  and  the  affair  of  the  Kha- 
liss  and  the  ear-rings  of  the  gold  of  Gal- 
lam  were  soon  forgotten. 

Money  Avas  found  elsewhere  and  sent 
to  France.  Nyaor-fall  had  loaned  it  to 
him  in  large,  white  pieces  engraved  with 
ancient  effigies,  which  he  had,  with  many 
others,  hidden  away  in  a  copper  box.  Jean 
was  to  repay  him  when  he  was  able.  It 
was  a  grave  responsibility  for  him,  it  is 
true,  but  his  poor  parents,  who  had 
counted  upon  him,  were  not  disappointed; 
as  for  the  rest,  it  mattered  little. 

Asleep  on  his  tara,  with  the  little  slave 
crouching  at  his  feet,  Jean  had  an  inde- 
scribable air  of  superb  indifference — the 
affected  air  of  an  Arabian  prince — for  he 


I  20         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

possessed  all  the  poor  majesty  of  2.  fils  de 
la  tente;  he  was  no  longer  the  little  mount- 
aineer of  the  Cevennes. 

The  three  years  on  the  Senegal,  which 
had  mowed  down  here  and  there  in  the  , 
ranks  of  the  spahis,  had  spared  him.  He 
was  much  bronzed  from  contact  with  the 
burning  rays  of  the  sun,  but  his  strength 
had  developed  and  his  manners  accentu- 
ated in  all  that  was  elegant  and  graceful. 
He  had  become  a  model  soldier,  punctual, 
vigilant,  and  brave,  but  the  golden  lace  of 
a  quarter-master  was  always  refused  him ; 
for  many  reasons,  but  principally  because 
of  his  life  with  a  black  woman. 

Rioting,  intoxication,  being  reported 
for  assault,  frequenting  ale-houses,  and 
otherwise  debasing  himself,  was  bad 
enough,  but  to  live  with  a  captive  slave, 
even  though  she  had  been  baptized,  could 
not  be  forgiven  him  ;  her  color  was  unpar- 
donable. • 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         1 2 1 

He  had  often  received  from  his  supe- 
riors violent  remonstrances  and  terrible 
threats  of  punishment.  Before  the  storm 
he  showed  a  bold  spirit,  listening  with  the 
stoicism  of  discipline,  dissembling  under 
an  air  of  contrition  ;  he  had  even  evinced 
a  willingness  to  undergo  the  lash.  But 
he  still  protected  Fatou-gaye,  and  nothing 
more  was  ever  done  about  it. 

His  feelings  for  the  little  creature  were 
complicated  ;  the  most  skillful  would  have 
lost  his  labor  in  trying  to  unravel  it. 

He  abandoned  himself  to  her  influence, 
and  was  powerless  to  separate  himself 
from  her ;  following  unresistingly  the 
dictates  of  his  troubled  heart,  for  in  those 
early  days  of  separation  and  exile  he  was 
indecisive  and  easily  decoyed.  And  day 
by  day  the  shadows  deepened  over  the 
memories  of  the  past. 

Two  years  had  passed  since  Jean  and 
Fatou-gaye  first  inhabited   the   house  of 


12  2  The  Romance  of  a  Spaki. 

Samba- Harriet.  In  the  house  of  Cora 
she  had  been  a  captive,  not  a  slave,  an 
essential  distinction  established  by  the 
laws  of  the  colony,  and  of  which  she  very 
soon  took  advantage. 

As  a  captive  she  had  the  right  to  escape, 
and  they  could  not  pursue  her,  and  after 
she  had  fled,  she  was  free.  She  had  made 
use  of  the  privilege.  Moreover,  she  was 
baptized,  which  was  another  guarantee  of 
liberty.  Cunning  as  an  ape,  she  turned 
it  all  over  in  her  little  head  and  com- 
prehended. 

For  a  w'oman  who  has  not  abjured  the 
faith  of  Maghreb  to  give  herself  to  a 
white  man  is  an  act  of  ignominy  which 
is  punished  by  the  scorn  and  contempt  of 
the  public. 

For  Fatou-gaye,  however,  this  terrible 
prejudice  no  longer  existed.  It  is  true 
they  called  her  Kafir,  and  she  was  excess- 
ively sensitive  on  this  point. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.         1 23 

The  word  A'^y?r(  infidel)  is  the  Roumi  of 
the  Algerians,  the  Giaour  of  the  Orientals. 

There  would  frequently  arrive  from 
the  interior,  bands  of  Khassoukes,  whom 
Fatou-gaye  readily  recognized  at  a  dis- 
tance by  their  towering  head-dress.  She 
would  run  timidly  and  excitedly  around 
them  and  endeavor  to  engage  them  in 
conversation  in  the  beloved  language  of 
her  native  country;  but  they,  after  a  word 
or  two  with  the  arch  little  creature,  would 
turn  their  heads  with  scorn  and  laugh  at 
her  with  an  inexpressible  curl  of  the  lip. 

And  Fatou-gaye  would  turn  away  with 
shame  and  a  heavy  heart.  But,  after  all, 
there  was  nothing  that  gave  her  so  much 
happiness  as  to  be  a  Kafir  and  possess 
Jean. 


124  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


II. 

Poor  Jean  slept  deeply  upon  the  light 
ta7'a — the  heavy,  dreamless  sleep  of  mid- 
day ;  but  the  first  moments  of  his  awaken- 
ing were  very  sad  and  gloomy. 

That  awakening  after  the  deep  trance  of 
sleep  at  midday,  the  sudden  realization  of 
things  after  perfect  oblivion,  was  terrible. 

At  first  his  ideas  were  confused,  discon- 
nected, and  mysterious  ;  but  suddenly  his 
mind  became  clear,  painfully  clear,  and 
there  arose  before  him  from  the  depths 
of  an  irrevocable  past  the  forms  of  his 
beloved  ones  in  the  cottage  of  the  Ceven- 
nes,  and  he  seemed  to  hear  the  faint  tink- 
ling of  the  herd  bells  mingling  with  the 
shrill  piping  of  the  African  grasshopper. 

Those  sounds  at  midday  in  the  feverish 
half-wakefulness  of  the  siesta,  those  vague, 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  125 

unconscious  thrills,  brought  tears  to  his 
eyes ;  it  was  the  result  of  circumstances, 
the  paraphrase  of  silence  and  heat,  of 
solitude  and  exile. 

He  suffered  once  more  the  anguish  of 
separation  and  lost  happiness ;  his  whole 
life  seemed  wounded.  Over  all  things 
hung  the  gloomy  aspect  of  the  tomb. 

He  arose  quickly,  seized  with  a  desire 
to  go  far  away ;  his  heart  was  full  of  the 
rage  of  despair,  and  he  thought  of  the 
dreary  years  that  lay  between  him  and  his 
return.  The  feeble  pulsations  of  the  arter- 
ies in  his  forehead  sounded  to  him  like 
the  beating  of  some  great,  mysterious 
clock  of  eternity,  and  he  felt  that  his  life 
was  rolling  away  from  him,  and  he  was 
powerless  to  stop  it. 

Fatou-gaye  vaguely  comprehended  that 
this  awakening  was  a  dangerous  moment, 
a  critical  time,  when  the  white  man  was 
beside  himself.     She  watched  him  as  he 


126         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

slept,  and  when  she  saw  him  open  his  great, 
melancholy  eyes  full  of  a  wild  despair, 
she  approached  him  humbly  to  do  his 
bidding.  Entwining  her  supple  arms 
about  him,  she  would  look  into  his  eyes 
questioningly,  and  say,  in  a  voice  as  soft 
and  languishing  as  the  notes  of  a  griofs 
guitar:  "What  is  it,  my  white  man?" 
And  so  these  gloomy  impressions  of  Jean 
were  not  of  long  duration  ;  and  when  he 
was  wide  awake,  his  habitual  insensibility 
resumed  its  sway,  and  he  saw  things  in 
their  accustomed  lieht. 


The  Romance  oj  a  Spain.         127 


III. 

Fatou-gaye's  hair-dressing  was  a  very 
important  and  complicated  performance, 
occurring  once  a  week,  and  often  occupy- 
ing a  whole  day. 

In  the  morning  she  walked  to  the  negro 
village,  Guet-n'dar,  where,  in  a  hut  of 
reeds  and  straw,  there  dwelt  a  hair-dresser 
of  great  renown  among  the  Nubian 
women. 

She  would  remain  there  for  hours  sit- 
ting on  the  sands  before  the  door,  giving 
herself  up  entirely  to  the  hands  of  the 
patient  and  careful  artist. 

He  unplaited  her  hair  at  once,  taking 
off,  one  by  one,  the  jewels,  and  after 
combing  out  the  thick  tresses  he  began  to 
reconstruct  the  wonderful  edifice,  adorn- 
ing it  with  coral,  bands  of  gold,  spangles 


128         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

of  copper,  and  balls  of  amber  and  em- 
erald. 

The  amber  balls  were  as  large  as  apples, 
and  were  precious  heir-looms  inherited 
by  Fatou-gaye  from  her  mother.  She  had 
brought  them  from  the  far-off  Gallam  into 
the  land  of  her  captivity,  concealed  in  a 
casket . 

The  most  difficult  part  to  arrange  of  this 
wonderful  coiffure  were  the  curled  masses 
just  above  the  nape  of  the  neck,  for  there 
it  was  necessary  to  comb  out  the  innu- 
merable little  kinks,  which  would  then 
resemble  a  thick  black  fringe. 

Then  with  deft  and  nimble  fingers  the 
hair-dresser  would  roll  each  of  these 
locks  separately  around  a  straw,  and  paste 
them  there  with  gum,  which  held  the 
straws  permanently  in  their  places. 

In  the  evening  Fatou-gaye  would  re- 
turn home  with  her  hair  supported  on 
these  straws,  which  had  the  appearance 
of  the  quills  upon  a  porcupine.      In    the 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         1 29 

morning,  however,  when  the  straws  were 
removed,  the  effect  was  startling  and 
beautiful. 

She  enveloped  it  all  in  a  blue  trans- 
parent gauze,  as  light  and  airy  as  a  cob- 
web— a  fashion  peculiar  to  the  Khassouke 
women — and  this  coiffure  would  last,  night 
and  day,  for  a  whole  week. 

She  wore  elegant  sandals  of  leather, 
tied  on  with  flaxen  strings  passed  between 
the  great  and  little  toes,  after  the  manner 
of  the  buskins  of  the  ancients,  and  a  gar- 
ment similar  to  those  worn  by  the  Egyp- 
tian women  of  the  time  of  Pharaoh, 
which  they  bequeathed  to  the  Nubian 
women. 

Across  her  bosom  was  thrown  a  bon-bon, 
a  large  square  of  muslin  with  an  opening 
through  which  the  head  is  passed,  and 
which  reaches  almost  to  the  knees. 

Her  ornaments  were  heavy  rings  of 
silver  riveted   to  her  wrists   and   ankles. 


130         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

and  necklaces  redolent  with  the  odor  of 
soumere. 

The  soumere  is  a  kind  of  berry  which 
matures  on  the  banks  of  the  Gambia. 
It  has  a  pungent,  penetrating  odor,  a  per- 
fume sui  generis,  characteristic  of  the 
Senegal.  These  berries  are  woven  into 
necklaces,  and  are  the  favorite  adornment 
of  the  African  women. 

Fatou-gaye  was  very  beautiful  with  this 
high,  fantastic  head-dress,  which  gave  to 
her  the  air  of  a  Hindoo  divinity  arrayed 
for  a  religious  festival.  She  did  not  have 
the  flat  nose  and  thick  lips  that  we  gen- 
erally regard  as  the  common  type  of  the 
negro  race;  but  she  possessed  the  pure 
Khassouke  type  of  beauty — a  straight, 
delicate  nose,  with  nostrils  thin  and  flexi- 
ble, a  perfect  mouth,  glittering  white 
teeth,  and,  above  all,  large  dark  eyes 
encircled  with  blue,  which  sometimes  were 
full  of  a  strange  gravity,  and  then  again 
with  mysterious  malice. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         1 3 1 


IV. 

Fatou-gaye  was  very  indolent ;  it  was 
truly  an  odalisque  that  Jean  was  wor- 
shiping. 

She  knew  how  to  repair  her  scanty  gar- 
ments, and  she  always  looked  as  neat  and 
dainty  as  a  little  black  cat  when  she  ar- 
rayed herself  in  her  snowy-white  clothes; 
but  beyond  the  care  of  her  person,  she 
was  incapable  of  labor. 

The  poor  Peyrals  could  no  longer  send 
to  their  son  their  small  savings,  for  noth- 
ing succeeded  with  them  any  more,  as  the 
old  mother  had  written,  and  since  they 
were  obliged  to  have  resource  to  the  mod- 
est purse  of  Jean,  Fatou-gaye's  income 
was  more  slender  than  ever.  But  hap- 
pily she  was  a  person  of  very  frugal  hab- 
its, and  her  wants  were  few. 


132  The  Romance  of  a  Spakz. 

Everywhere  in  the  Soudan  the  woman 
is  placed  in  strong  contrast  with  the  man, 
in  the  most  degrading  conditions  of  infe- 
riority. Many  times  during  her  life  she  is 
sold  as  a  beast  of  burden,  at  a  price  de- 
pending entirely  on  her  looks — her  ugli- 
ness, defects,  and  old  age. 

One  day  Jean  demanded  of  his  friend 
Nyaor : 

"  What  have  you  done  with  your  wife 
Nokhoudounkhuille,  the  one  that  is  so 
beautiful  ?  " 

And  Nyaor  replied,  with  a  tranquil 
smile: 

"  Nokhoudounkhuille  talked  too  much, 
and  I  sold  her ;  with  the  money  they 
gave  me  for  her  I  bought  two  sheep  that 
never  speak." 

The  women  labor  hard  beating  the  mil- 
let for  the  Kouss-Kouss;  from  morning  till 
night  in  all  Nubia,  from  Timbuctoo  to 
the  coast  of  Guinea,  in  every  hut  under 


The  Romance  of  a  Spaht.         133 

the  burning  sun  is  heard  the  sound  of  the 
pestles  falHng  noisily  in  the  mortars  of 
stone. 

Thousands  of  arms  encircled  with  glit- 
tering bracelets  grow  weary  and  exhaust- 
ed at  this  labor.  This  monotonous  sound, 
mingled  with  the  sharp,  querulous  voices 
of  the  women,  who  chatter  away  like 
monkeys,  is  the  characteristic  tumult  that 
afar  in  the  desert  announces  the  approach 
to  an  African  village. 

The  product  of  this  eternal  beating, 
which  has  been  done  by  generations  of 
women,  is  a  coarse  meal  of  millet,  from 
which  they  make  an  unsavory  liquor 
called  Kouss-Kouss.  This  Kouss-Kouss 
is  the  chief  food  of  the  black  people. 

Fatou-gaye  escaped  the  legendary  la- 
bor of  the  women  of  her  race,  but  each 
evening  she  descended  to  the  lodgings  of 
Coura-n'diaye,  the  ancient  poetess  of  El 
Hadj,  the  female  griot,  and  there,  after 


1 34         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

paying  her  feeble  monthly  allowance,  she 
had  the  right  to  sit  among  the  slaves  of 
the  old  favorite,  around  a  large  gourd 
smoking  with  Kouss-Kouss,  to  satisfy  the 
greedy  appetite  of  a  sixteen-year-old  girl. 

Extended  upon  a  tara  of  finely  woven 
mats,  old  Coura-n'diaye  presided  with  an 
inexpressible  dignity. 

The  scenes  at  these  repasts  were  inde- 
scribably noisy.  The  little  black  slaves, 
crouching  on  the  ground  around  the 
gourd,  leaned  over  the  crude  liquor  and 
ate  it  with  their  fingers,  occasionally 
bursting  into  peals  of  merry  laughter,  dis- 
playing their  white  teeth  set  in  gums  as 
red  as  a  peony.  The  stealthy  paws  of 
cats,  the  noses  of  the  yellow  dogs  and  the 
big-horned  sheep  were  also  thrust  into 
the  gourd  for  their  share  of  the  Kouss- 
Kouss. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spain.         135 


V. 

The  deserted  square  before  the  house 
of  Samba- Hamet  was  always  very  sad 
and  lonely  at  twilight.  Jean  often  re- 
mained for  hours  leaning  out  of  the  win- 
dow at  that  time,  when  all  was  silent  save 
the  rustling  of  the  parchments  of  the 
priests  suspended  from  the  ceiling,  as  they 
fluttered  about  in  the  evening  breeze. 
Fatou-gaye  had  hung  them  there  to  guard 
them  while  they  slept. 

This  evening  he  sat  in  the  door-way 
smoking  cigarettes,  which  he  had  taught 
Fatou-gaye  to  make,  watching  with  his 
great,  languid,  brown  eyes  the  little 
negresses  who  had  come  to  play  in  the 
dim,  weird  twilight  on  the  deserted  square, 
where  they  flitted  about  like  moths  in  the 
evening  breeze. 


136         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

The  sunsets  in  December  invariably 
bring  to  Saint  Louis  refreshing  breezes, 
while  overhead  the  clouds  hang  like  dark 
curtains,  growing  darker  and  darker 
toward  night-fall ;  but  never  a  drop  of 
rain  falls,  for  this  is  the  dry  season,  and 
there  is  no  moisture  anywhere.  This 
respite  at  twilight  always  gives  one  a 
sensation  of  physical  solace,  yet  it  also 
brings  with  it  a  feeling  of  intense  sadness 
and  melancholy. 

As  Jean  sat  there  before  his  lonely 
door  he  was  lost  in  a  deep  reverie — his 
thoughts  were  very  far  away.  Every  day 
at  the  barracks  he  took  a  journey,  as  the 
flight  of  a  bird,  over  the  great  geograph- 
ical charts,  and  as  he  sat  there  he  traveled 
it  again  in  spirit. 

He  first  traversed  the  gloomy  desert; 
and  this  part  of  his  journey,  through 
those  infinite,  mysterious  solitudes  where 
the   burning   heat  and  all  the  sands  re- 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.        137 

tarded  his  footsteps,  he  accomplished  but 
slowly. 

Then  he  crossed  Algeria  and  the  Med- 
iterranean, and  reaching  the  coast  of 
France,  he  ascended  the  Rhone.  Finally 
he  came  to  the  little  black  marks  on  the 
map  that  represented  to  him  lofty  pinna- 
cles in  the  clouds — the  Cevennes. 

Mountains  !  It  had  been  so  long  since 
his  eyes  had  rested  on  anything  but  the 
low,  sombre  plains,  50  long  since  he  had 
seen  mountains,  that  he  had  almost  for- 
gotten their  aspect. 

And  forests  !  The  grand  forests  of  oak 
trees  in  his  own  country,  so  cool  and 
shadowy,  where  flowed  rivers  of  spark- 
ling waters,  and  whose  soil  was  covered 
with  a  carpet  of  green  mosses  and  wild 
flowers!  What  a  relief  it  would  be  to 
him  if  he  could  behold  that  moist,  green 
earth,  instead  of  the  arid  sands  swept  by 
the  desert  winds! 


138         The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi. 

And  he  saw  in  this  ideal  voyage  the 
dear  village,  the  old  church,  upon  which 
he  imagined  there  was  snow,  and  his  cot- 
tage near  by,  and  he  seemed  to  hear  the 
ancient  bell  sounding  the  Angelus. 

He  saw  it  all  as  in  a  vision  in  the  blue 
vapors  of  the  cool  December  twilight, 
and  the  familiar  faces  of  his  loved  ones 
shone  on  him  tender  and  beautiful  as  he 
viewed  them  in  the  rosy  lights  of  mem- 
ory. Was  it  possible  that  they  existed  in 
reality,  and  were  not  even  so  far  away 
but  that  he  might  reach  them  in  a  few 
days? 

What  were  they  doing  then,  his  old 
parents,  at  this  hour  when  he  was  think- 
ing of  them  so  intensely  ?  Seated  by  the 
fireside,  no  doubt,  near  the  wide  chimney, 
where  blazed  a  cheerful  fire  made  of  the 
dry  branches  collected  in  the  forests.  He 
could  see  there  each  familiar  object  of 
his  childhood  :  the  little  lamp  for  winter 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.         139 

evenings,  the  old  furniture,  the  cat  doz- 
ing on  a  stool,  and  in  the  midst  of  it  all 
the  beloved  tenants  of  the  cottage. 

It  was  seven  o'clock  ;  the  evening  meal 
was  finished ;  his  old  father  sat  in  his 
habitual  attitude,  his  head  supported  on 
his  hand — the  head  of  an  old  cuirassier 
who  had  become  a  mountaineer.  And 
his  mother:  she  was  knitting,  perhaps,  the 
long  needles  flying  in  and  out  of  her 
active  fingers,  or  holding  the  distaff,  spin- 
ning flax.  And  Jeanne  Mery,  she  was 
with  them  probably ;  his  mother  had  writ- 
ten him  that  she  often  came  to  keep 
them  company  winter  evenings.  She  was 
''changed,  but  vtore  beautiful  than  ever,''' 
they  had  written  him,  for  she  had  blos- 
somed like  a  flower  into  lovely  woman- 
hood—  no  longer  the  little  Jeanne  he 
once  knew. 

Night  had  fallen  over  the  lonely  square, 
but  the  little  negresses  still  flitted  about 


140         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

in  the  growing  darkness,  the  fluttering 
folds  of  their  flowing  garments  resembling 
the  outstretched  wings  of  bats  as  they  ran 
about  in  the  cool  breeze  with  the  sportive 
movements  of  little  kittens  gamboling 
when  the  wind  is  dry  and  frost  is  in  the 
air. 

The  moon  rose  and  made  a  vivid  pict- 
ure of  the  spahi  in  his  gay  red  uniform ; 
and  Fatou-gaye,  who  sat  near  him,  her 
towering  head-dress  glittering  with  amber 
and  gold,  her  great  eyes  full  of  a  dreamy 
melancholy,  was  a  bit  of  color  that  made 
the  picture  perfect. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         141 


VI. 

A     PEDANTIC     DIGRESSION      ON      MUSIC     AND 

THAT   CLASS   OF    PEOPLE   CALLED 

GRIOTS. 

The  art  of  music  in  the  Soudan  is  con- 
fined to  a  peculiar  caste  of  men  called 
griots,  who  are  from  father  tor  son  itiner- 
ant musicians  and  composers  of  heroic 
songs. 

These  griots  beat  the  tam-tam  at  the 
bamboula,  and  on  festive  occasions  sing 
the  praises  of  persons  of  rank. 

When  a  chief  desires  to  hear  his  own 
name  exalted  he  commands  the  griots,  who 
come  and  sit  before  him  on  the  sands 
and  improvise  in  his  honor  a  long  series 
of  official  couplets,  accompanying  their 
sharp  voices  with  the  notes  of  a  primitive 
little  guitar  whose  strings  are  stretched 
over  the  skin  of  a  serpent. 


142  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

The  griots  are  the  most  philosophical 
and  idle  of  people,  leading  wandering  lives 
and  taking  no  thought  of  the  morrow. 

They  roam  from  village  to  village,  or 
follow  in  the  suite  of  the  grand  chiefs 
who  go  to  battle ;  here  and  there  receiv- 
ing alms,  and  treated  everywhere  as  pari- 
ahs, like  the  European  gypsy. 

Sometimes  they  are  loaded  with  gold  and 
favors,  and  then  again  in  other  countries 
they  are  excluded  during  their  lives  from 
all  religious  ceremonies,  and  at  their  death 
from  the  rights  of  sepulture. 

They  compose  plaintive  romances  with 
vague,  mysterious  words;  heroic  songs  that 
are  melodious  even  in  their  monotony ; 
marches  for  the  warriors,  in  a  nervous, 
stately  rhythm,  and  airs  for  the  dance 
which  bring  to  mind  the  frenzied  ravings 
of  enraged  beasts. 

But  there  is  a  peculiar  melody  in  all 
the  music  of  the  blacks,  as  with  all  primi- 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.        143 

tive  people,  which  is  expressed  in  short, 
sad  phrases  with  a  gamut,  more  or  less 
accidental  ;  rising  at  one  moment  to  the 
highest  notes  of  the  human  voice,  then 
descending  suddenly  to  the  lowest,  drag- 
ging itself  along  in  a  kind  of  lamenta- 
tion. 

The  negresses  always  sing  at  their 
work  during  the  warm,  drowsy  hours  of 
the  siesta. 

In  the  great  calm  of  midday,  so  ener- 
vating there  on  the  banks  of  the  Senegal, 
the  plaintive  songs  of  the  Nubian  women 
have  a  strange  charm..  Transported  from 
this  exotic  frame-work  of  sun  and  sand, 
they  would  no  longer  possess  the  same 
thrilling  pathos. 

Although  these  negro  melodies  seem 
primitive  on  account  of  their  repetitions 
and  unceasing  monotony,  they  are  really 
very  often  difficult  and  complicated. 

The   marriage  processions   which   one 


144  "^^^  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

so  often  meets  winding  slowly  over  the 
sands  always  sing  under  the  guidance  of 
the  griots,  their  strange  chorus  being  in- 
variably accompanied  by  a  persistent  con- 
tretemps,  bristling  with  fantastic  difficul- 
ties. 

A  simple  instrument,  reserved  for  wo- 
men, plays  an  important  part  in  the 
music  of  these  assemblages.  It  is  only 
a  gourd  flattened  at  one  end,  which  is 
struck  with  the  hand,,  sometimes  at  the 
opening,  and  then  again  on  the  side,  pro- 
ducing two  very  different  sounds — the 
one  dry  and  sharp,  the  other  dull  and 
mufBed.  It  is  so  difficult  to  draw  any 
sound  from  this  instrument  that  the  result 
obtained  is  surprising.  The  effect  of  the 
distant  voices  of  the  negroes  mingling, 
half-drowned  by  the  noise  of  hundreds 
of  these  instruments,  is  strange,  and 
weird. 

The    perpetual  contretemps  of  the   ac- 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  145 

companiment,  the  unexpected  pauses,  per- 
fectly understood  and  observed  by  all  the 
performers,  are  the  most  noticeable  char- 
acteristics of  this  music,  inferior  perhaps, 
but  very  different  from  ours. 


10 


146         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


VII. 

A  passing  griot  strikes  the  tam-tam ; 
it  is  a  summons,  and  they  all  gather  around 
him,  the  women  arranging  themselves  in 
a  circle,  singing  sensual  and  passionate 
songs. 

The  one  who  arrives  first  leads  the 
throng,  and  darting  into  the  middle  of 
the  circle,  dances  to  the  music  of  the  tam- 
bour— very  slowly  at  first,  with  licentious 
gestures,  then  faster  and  faster,  until  she 
reaches  a  frenzy.  As  she  moves  her  body 
there  is  a  noisy  clashing  and  jingling  of 
glass  beads  and  trinkets,  and  her  move- 
ments resemble  the  friskings  of  a  foolish 
ape  or  the  contortions  of  one  possessed. 

When  completely  exhausted  she  retires, 
panting  and  overcome,  the  slimy  drops 
of  sweat  bathing  her  black  skin. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         147 

Her  companions  gather  around  her 
with  whoops  of  applause ;  then  another 
woman  takes  her  place  within  the  circle, 
and  each  one  successively  until  they  have 
all  had  their  turn. 

The  older  women  are  even  more  con- 
spicuously and  outrageously  indecent.  The 
infants,  which  they  often  carry  on  their 
backs,  being  frightfully  tossed  about,  raise 
their  voices  in  piercing  cries ;  but  the 
negresses  on  such  occasions  seem  lost  to 
all  maternal  sentiments,  and  nothing  can 
induce  them  to  pause  in  their  mad  dance. 

On  the  Senegal  the  time  of  full  moon 
is  particularly  consecrated  to  the  bam- 
boula  and  other  great  fetes  of  the  negroes. 
In  that  country  of  endless  sands  it  seems 
that  the  moon  attains  a  greater  size  than 
elsewhere,  and  its  light  is  more  brilliant 
and  ruddy. 

The  crowd  begins  to  gather  at  the  close 
of  day;  the  women  are  attired  in  gorgeous 


148  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

colors  and  bedecked  with  jewels  and  the 
fine  gold  of  Gallam.  Their  arms  are  orna- 
mented with  heavy  silver  rings,  and  around 
their  necks  is  a  wonderful  profusion  of 
trinkets,  amber,  coral,  and  glass  beads. 

When  the  red  disk  of  the  moon  appears 
above  the  horizon,  shedding  its  bloody 
lights  upon  the  sands,  the  furious  tumult 
begins. 

At  certain  seasons  of  the  year  the  lonely 
square  before  the  house  of  Samba-Hamet 
becomes  the  theatre  of  these  weird  bam- 
boulas. 

On  these  occasions  Coura-n'diaye  would 
lend  Fatou  some  of  her  precious  jewels 
that  she  might  attend  the  fete,  and  some- 
times she  herself  would  appear,  as  in 
olden  times.  Then  there  was  a  great 
buzz  of  admiration  as  the  old  griot 
advanced,  glittering  with  gold  and  jewels, 
her  head  thrown  back  and  a  strange  light 
shining  in  her  aged  eyes. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         149 

With  a  brazen  face  she  wouJd  appear 
as  nude  as  a  statue,  though  her  body 
was   as   toucrh    and  wrinkled    as  a  black 

O 

mummy. 

She  would  then  display  the  marvel- 
ous gifts  of  El  Hadj,  the  Conqueror. 
There  were  necklaces  of  emerald  of  the 
purest  water,  rows  upon  rows  of  golden 
bells  of  inimitable  workmanship;  there 
was  pure  gold  on  her  arms  and  ankles, 
and  her  head  was  adorned  with  exquisite 
ornaments  of  antique  gold. 

Then  the  old,  bedizened  idol  would 
begin  to  sing,  and  becoming  more  and 
more  excited  each  moment,  she  wildly 
tossed  about  her  skeleton  arms,  though  it 
was  with  difficulty  she  lifted  the  weight 
of  her  heavy  bracelets.  Her  harsh  and 
cavernous  voice  resounded  as  from  an 
empty  carcass,  then  sank  into  a  groan 
— a  posthumous  echo  of  the  poetess  of 
El  Hadj.     In  her  bright,  dilated  eyes  one 


150         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

seemed  to  see  a  reflection  of  the  great,  mys- 
terious wars  of  the  interior  of  former 
days  —  the  armies  of  El  Hadj  flying 
through  the  desert — horrible  massacres, 
where  whole  tribes  were  left  to  the  vult- 
ures— the  siege  of  Segou-Koro,  and  the 
villages  of  Messina,  Medina,  and  Timbuc- 
too  all  burning  under  the  blazing  sun  like 
a  fire  of  herbs  on  the  plains. 

Coura-n'diaye  would  be  entirely  over- 
come with  exhaustion  when  she  had  fin- 
ished her  songs,  and  on  returning  to  her 
house  she  would  throw  herself,  panting 
and  trembling,  upon  her  tara,  and  after 
her  little  slaves  had  taken  off  her  jewels 
and  arranged  everything  to  make  her 
comfortable,  she  would  remain  there,  silent 
and  motionless,  for  many  hours. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         151 


VIII. 

One  morning  Fatou-gaye  conducted 
Jean  out  of  Saint  Louis  in  the  direction  of 
Guet-n'dar,  leading  him,  after  the  fashion 
of  negroes,  by  one  finger  held  in  her  little 
black  hand  covered  with  silver  rings. 

Guet-n'dar  is  a  negro  village  built  upon 
the  sands,  and  is  composed  of  thousands 
of  small,  round  huts  with  pointed  roofs  of 
stubble,  many  of  which  assume  the  most 
extraordinary  shapes. 

Some  of  them  are  tall  and  peaked, 
menacing  the  skies;  others  are  horizon- 
tal, threatening  their  neighbors,  and  many 
of  them  have  a  parched  and  shriveled 
look,  as  if  they  were  suffering  from  the 
drought  and  were  about  to  roll  themselves 
up  like  the  trunk  of  an  elephant. 

Under  the  uniformity  of  the  blue  sky 

\ 


152  The  Romance  of  a  SpaJii. 

these  hundreds  of  peaks  and  points  give 
one  an  impression  of  many  horned  objects. 

Guet-n'dar  is  divided  by  a  wide  street 
of  sand  running  from  north  to  south,  very 
straight  and  regular,  opening  afar  in  the 
great  desert — the  desert  that  forms  both 
country  and  horizon. 

On  either  side  of  this  vast,  sandy  way 
are  numbers  of  narrow  streets  turning  in 
and  out  as  tortuously  as  the  paths  in  a 
labyrinth. 

It  was  in  the  month  of  January,  and 
seven  o'clock  in  the  morning ;  the  sun 
was  just  rising,  and  at  this  hour  the 
air  is  fresh  and  agreeable  even  on  the 
Senegal. 

Jean  walked  along  with  a  firm  and 
steady  step,  smiling  inwardly  at  the  droll 
expedition  upon  which  he  was  allowing 
Fatou-gaye  to  take  him,  and  at  the 
thought  of  the  personage  they  were  about 
to  visit. 

/ 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         153 

He  permitted  himself  to  be  led  along 
with  a  good  grace,  for  he  was  amused 
and  interested. 

He  was  very  handsome  this  morning, 
for  the  rare  freshness  of  the  pure  air  had 
brought  out  all  of  his  physical  elasticity, 
and  had  upon  him  a  most  exhilarating 
effect 

Fatou-gaye  appeared  to  him  in  a  most 
favorable  light,  and  he  almost  loved  her. 

It  was  one  of  those  singular,  fugitive 
moments  when  memory  was  dead  and  the 
land  of  Africa  seemed  to  smile  upon  him ; 
when  he  abandoned  himself  without  a 
retrospective  glance  to  the  life  which  for 
more  than  three  years  had  lulled  him  into 
a  dangerous  sleep  haunted  with  prophetic 
dreams. 

Behind  the  reedy  palisades  that  bor- 
dered the  streets  of  Guet-n'dar  could  be 
heard  the  sonorous  blows  of  the  pestles 
beating  the   millet  for  the  Kouss-Kouss. 


154  '^^^^  Romance  of  a  Spahi, 

mingled  with  bursts  of  negro  voices  and 
the  rattling  of  their  glass  beads  and 
trinkets. 

At  every  street  corner  were  skulls  of 
great  horned  sheep  attached  to  the  end  of 
long  wooden  poles,  and  skimming  about 
everywhere  were  fetich  lizards  with  sky- 
blue  bodies  and  heads  of  a  beautiful  orange 
color  which  were  swinging  about  perpetu- 
ally from  side  to  side. 

The  air  was  full  of  the  strong  odors  of 
negroes,  leather  amulets,  Kouss-Kouss  and 
soumere. 

Little  negresses  appeared  at  the  gates 
with  strings  of  blue  pearls  around  their 
necks  and  their  pear-shaped  heads  covered 
with  coquettish  little  kinks;  their  mouths 
were  stretched  from  ear  to  ear  with  smiles, 
and  craning  their  necks  over  the  gates 
they  regarded  Jean  with  curiosity  and 
astonishment,  chattering  away  in  an  in- 
comprehensible jargon. 


\ 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.         1 5  5 

These  scenes  forcibly  reminded  Jean 
that  he  was  in  a  land  of  exile ;  yet  there 
was  a  certain  charm  about  it  all,  and  the 
rising  of  the  tropical  sun,  the  limpid 
morning  air  with  its  animating  inspira- 
tion had  a  magical  effect  on  the  young 
soldier.  He  responded  gaily  to  the  salu- 
tations of  the  little  negresses,  smiled  upon 
Fatou-gaye,  and  for  the  moment  the  past 
sank  into  oblivion. 

They  finally  arrived  at  the  hut  of  an 
old  black  man  with  a  sharp  and  cunning 
look  in  his  eye,  named  Samba-Latir. 
When  they  were  seated  upon  mats  on  the 
ground  in  the  house  of  their  host,  Fatou- 
gaye  began  the  conversation,  explaining 
the  situation,  which  was,  as  will  be  seen, 
of  a  very  grave  and  critical  nature. 

For  several  days,  always  at  the  same 
hour,  she  had  met  a  certain  ugly  old  woman, 
who  regarded  her  in  a  very  singular  man- 
ner out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye,  over  her 
shoulder. 


156         The  Romajtce  of  a  Spahi. 

Yesterday,  Fatou-gaye  had  returned 
home  in  tears,  declaring  to  Jean  that  she 
was  bewitched,  and  that  night  she  was 
obliged  to  bathe  her  head  in  cold  water 
to  diminish  the  first  effects  of  the  evil 
eye. 

In  her  collection  of  amulets  there  were 
those  against  all  sorts  of  accidents,  pains, 
bad  dreams,  poisonous  plants,  dangerous 
falls,  and  venomous  reptiles ;  against  the 
infidelity  of  Jean,  the  devastations  of 
white  ants,  and  alligators ;  but  there  was 
not  a  single  one  to  ward  off  the  bad  luck 
which  certain  people  have  the  power  to 
throw  over  those  who  pass  them — not  an 
amulet  to  drive  away  the  baleful  effects 
of  the  evil  eye  ! 

And  this  was  a  recognized  specialty  of 
Samba-Latir,  who  had  the  charm  already 
prepared. 

With  a  mysterious  air  he  took  from  an 
old  chest  a  small  red  bag  attached  to  a 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         157 

leather  string,  and  placed  it  around  Fatou- 
gaye's  neck,  at  the  same  time  pronouncing 
cabalistic  words  to  conjure  the  malignant 
spirit. 

This  only  cost  ten  francs,  and  Jean,  who 
did  not  know  how  to  bargain  even  for  an 
amulet,  paid  it  without  murmuring.  But 
he  felt  the  blood  mounting  to  his  temples 
when  he  saw  his  money  go  that  way,  for 
he  thought  with  a  pang  of  remorse  of  his 
old  parents,  who  deprived  themselves  of 
many  things  that  were  certainly  of  more 
value  than  the  amulets  of  Fatou-gaye. 


158  The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi. 


IX. 

LETTER  FROM  JEANNE  MERY  TO  HER  COUSIN 
JEAN. 

My  Dear  Jean:  Almost  three  years  have  passed 
since  your  departure,  and  I  am  always  looking  for 
you  to  say  something  about  your  return  home. 
I  have  great  faith  in  your  remaining  faithful  to 
me,  yet  I  can  not  deny  that  there  are  times  in 
the  lonely  hours  of  the  night  when  regret  seizes 
me  and  my  heart  is  full  of  fear. 

My  parents  say  that  if  you  had  very  much  de- 
sired it,  you  might  have  obtained  a  permit  to  pay 
us  a  visit. 

It  is  true  our  cousin  Pierre  returned  twice  to 
this  country  during  the  time  he  served  as  a 
soldier. 

They  say  that  I  am  going  to  marry  that  big 
Suirot,  but  you  must  not  believe  it,  for  you  know 
I  could  never  marry  that  great  simpleton.  They 
may  talk,  but  I  know  there  is  no  one  in  the  whole 
world  so  dear  to  me  as  my  dear  Jean. 

They  also  say  that  I  am  putting  on  airs  because 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         1 59 

I  will  not  dance  with  that  numbskull  Toinon,  and 
others  like  him,  but  it  is  not  true,  I  sit  quietly 
on  the  bench  before  the  door,  with  Rose,  and  think 
of  you,  whom  I  love  more  than  all  the  rest. 

Thank  you  for  the  picture,  which  is  very  good, 
though  they  tell  me  you  are  greatly  changed;  it 
is  like  you,  though  somehow  you  have  not  the 
same  expression. 

I  hung  it  above  the  chimney  among  my  Easter 
boughs,  so  it  is  the  first  thing  that  greets  my  eyes 
when  I  enter  my  chamber. 

I  have  not  yet  dared  to  wear  the  bracelet  you 
sent  me  that  was  made  by  the  black  people,  for  I 
am  afraid  that  Rose  and  Olivette  may  ridicule  me. 
They  already  think  that  I  affect  the  airs  of  a  fine 
lady.  When  you  return,  and  we  are  married,  it 
will  be  different;  I  will  then  wear  it  openly,  with 
the  beautiful  chain  and  scissor-case  of  my  aunt 
Toinette. 

Only  come,  for  you  see  that  I  am  longing  for  a 
sight  of  you.  I  have  the  appearance  of  being 
happy,  but  sometimes  regret  and  disappointment 
rise  in  my  heart  so  strong  that  I  go  to  my  own 
room  and  weep. 

Adieu,  my  dear  Jean.  I  embrace  you  with  all 
my  heart,  Jeanne  M^ry. 


i6o         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


X. 

Fatou-gaye's  hands,  which  were  a  beau- 
tiful glossy  black  outside,  were  pink  inside. 
For  a  long  time  Jean  shuddered  whenever 
he  caught  a  glimpse  of  that  inside  color, 
and  a  cold  chill  crept  over  him  as  if  he 
had  touched  the  feet  of  an  ape. 

Her  hands,  nevertheless,  were  small 
and  delicate,  and  attached  to  round  and 
very  slender  wrists  ;  but  those  fingers  of 
two  different  colors  had  something  about 
them  that  was  not  human,  which  to  Jean 
was  horrible. 

And  there  would  escape  her  sometimes, 
when  she  was  very  animated,  certain  in- 
tonations in  a  strange  treble,  and  peculiar 
gestures,  which  recalled  mysterious  re- 
semblances and  troubled  his  imagination. 

But  after  awhile  he  grew  accustomed  to 


The  Romance  of  a  SpaJii.         1 6 1 

them,  and  no  longer  allowed  these  pecu- 
liarities to  annoy  him,  and  at  times  when 
Fatou-gaye  was  gentle  and  amiable  he 
loved  her,  though  he  often  laughingly 
called  her  by  an  odd  Jaloff  name  that 
means  "little  monkey." 

This  nickname  mortified  Fatou  greatly, 
and  Jean  was  much  amused  at  the  seri- 
ous and  imposing  airs  she  assumed. 

One  fine  day  Fritz  Muller  paid  a  visit 
to  Jean,  and  mounting  noiselessly  to  the 
threshold,  he  paused  a  moment  to  watch 
the  following  scene :  Jean,  who  was  laugh- 
ing like  a  boy,  held  Fatou-gaye  by  the 
arm,  and  turning  her  around,  at  the  same 
time  gazing  intently  at  her,  he  seemed  to 
be  closely  inspecting  her.  Suddenly,  with 
an  air  of  conviction,  he  thus  expressed 
his  conclusions: 

"Yes,  Fatou,   you  are  a  perfect  little 

monkey ! " 

And  she,  greatly  vexed,  replied  : 
11 


1 62  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

"  Oh,  T'  Jean,  T'  Jean  !  you  ought  not 
to  say  so ;  for  in  the  first  place  the  mon- 
key knows  not  how  to  speak,  and  I  know 
very  well." 

Then  Fritz  Muller  laughed  aloud,  and 
Jean  joined  him;  but  Fatou-gaye  assumed 
an  air  of  offended  dignity,  as  if  to  pro- 
test by  her  deportment  against  these  impo- 
lite criticisms. 

"A  very  pretty  little  monkey,  anyhow," 
said  Muller,  who  greatly  admired  Fatou- 
gaye.  He  had  lived  in  the  black  country 
a  long  time,  and  recognized  in  her  one 
of  the  most  attractive  of  the  beautiful 
daughters  of  the  Soudan.  "A  very 
pretty  little  monkey  !  If  all  the  mon- 
keys in  the  woods 'of  Gallam  were  like 
her,  one  could  have  become  acclimated 
in  that  accursed,  God-forsaken  country." 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         163 


XI. 

A  noisy  crowd  of  men  in  the  uniform  of 
the  spahis  were  assembled  one  evening  in 
a  large  hall. 

The  windows  were  thrown  open  to 
catch  the  evening  breeze  ;  swarms  of  fire- 
flies, attracted  by  the  dazzling  light,  came 
to  beat  their  wings  against  the  great, 
swinging  chandeliers. 

Scattered  about  in  the  crowd  were  ne- 
gresses  and  mulattresses,  whcf  were  there 
to  serve  the  spahis,  for  it  was  a  grand 
banquet. 

That  day  there  had  been  2ifete  at  Saint 
Louis — a  military  fete — a  review  of  the 
troops  at  the  barracks,  horse-races  on  the 
desert,  canoe-races  on  the  river  ;  in  fact, 
the  usual  programme  of  merriment  and 
rejoicing  of  a  provincial  town.     In  addi- 


164  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

tion  to  which,  the  musicians  had  been 
brought  from  Nubia. 

All  the  handsome,  robust  men  of  the 
garrison — spahis,  sailors,  and  sharpshoot- 
ers— were  promenading  the  streets. 

There  were  also  mulatto  men  and 
women  in  holiday  attire — old  Signardes  du 
.  Senegal,  grave  and  dignified,  their  high 
coiffures  of  Madras  silk  handkerchiefs 
arranged  in  the  fashion  of  1820,  and 
young  Signardes  in  more  modern  toilettes, 
much  faded  and  wrinkled,  and  smelling 
of  the  coast  of  Africa ;  then  there  were 
other  females  in  fresh,  fashionable  cos- 
tumes; and  behind  them,  as  if  for  an  off- 
set, were  crowds  of  little  negroes  bedecked 
with  beads  and  savage  ornaments. 

It  was  a  day  of  wonderful  animation 
for  Saint  Louis,  and  all  the  inhabitants 
of  the  old  city  thronged  the  usually  de- 
serted streets,  ready  to  return  to-morrow 
to  the  gloom  of  the  silent  houses  under 
their  uniform  shroud  of  white  lime. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         165 

The  spahis,  who  by  order  had  paraded 
all  day  on  the  Government  square,  were 
joyous  and  excited  at  the  unusual  exer- 
cise and  movement.  That  evening  they 
would  receive  their  promotions  and  the 
medals  that  had  arrived  by  the  last  mail 
from  France. 

Jean  usually  sat  apart  from  his  compan- 
ions, but  this  evening  he  joined  them 
around  the  festal  board. 

A  number  of  toasts  were  drunk.  Many 
songs  were  sung ;  songs  brought  from 
Algeria,  India,  and  elsewhere;  some  as 
solos,  discreet  and  comical,  and  others 
in  a  fearful  chorus,  accompanied  by  the 
breaking  of  glasses  and  blows  of  the 
hands  on  the  table.  .  They  also  repeated 
anecdotes  and  threadbare  jokes,  and 
above  the  uproar  could  be  heard  words 
to  make  the  devil  blush. 

Then  suddenly,  amid  the  surging  tu- 
mult, a  spahi  raised  his  glass,  and  pro- 
posed this  unexpected  toast : 


1 66  The  Roma7ice  of  a  Spahi. 

"  To  those  who  fell  at  Mecca  and  Bob- 
diarah ! " 

How  strange,  how  unforeseen  !  An 
homage,  a  sacrilegious  pleasantry,  in 
memory  of  those  long  dead  ! 

He  was  very  drunk,  the  spahi  who  had 
proposed  the  funereal  toast,  and  his  eyes 
were  dull  and  gloomy. 

Alas,  in  a  few  years  who  w^ill  give  a 
thought  to  "  those  who  fell  at  Mecca  and 
Bobdiarah,"  whose  bones  are  already 
bleaching  on  the  desert  sands  ! 

The  people  at  Saint  Louis  who  saw 
them  depart  may  retain  a  memory  of 
their  names  for  a  little  while;  but  after  a 
few  years,  who  will  remember  them,  who 
will  speak  of  them  ? 

And  every  glass  was  emptied  in  mem- 
ory of  "  those  who  fell  at  Mecca  and 
Bobdiarah," 

This  strange  toast  was  followed  by  a 
great  silence    of   awe    and  astonishment, 


( 

The  Romance  of  a  Spain.         167 

and  it  seemed  as  if  a  black  pall  had  fallen 
upon  the  joyous  feast  of  the  spahis. 

Jean  particularly,  whose  eyes  had  been 
flashing  with  merriment,  and  whose  ring- 
ing peals  of  laughter  had  been  heard 
above  the  others,  became  grave  and 
thoughtful,  powerless  to  explain  where- 
fore. 

"  To  those  who  fell  on  the  desert ! " 
somehow  those  words  thrilled  him  with 
horror,  and  a  tremor  ran  through  his  flesh 
as  when  he  heard  the  voices  of  the  jack- 
als borne  to  him  on  the  wind  from  the 
gloomy  plains  of  Sorr. 

Notwithstanding,  he  was  very  brave, 
and  had  no  fear  of  battle;  and  when  he 
heard  of  Boubakar-Segou,  who  was  then 
roaming  about  with  his  army  near  the 
gates  of  Saint  Louis,  he  felt  his  heart 
bound  at  the  thought  of  seeing  a  battle, 
even  if  it  was  only  against  a  negro  king. 
He  felt  that  it  would  awaken  him  from 


1 68  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

the  life  of  dreamy  idleness  in  the  old 
white  house,  under  the  charm  of  a  dusky- 
child  of  the  Khassoukes. 

Poor  fellows !  You  who  drink  to  the 
memory  of  the  dead ;  who  laugh,  who 
sing,  profit  by  the  joyous  passing  mo- 
ment !  Yet  those  gay,  reckless  songs 
have  a  mournful  sound  in  the  land  of  the 
Senegal,  where  many  of  you,  beyond  a 
doubt,  have  your  graves  already  marked 
on  the  desert  sands. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         169 


XII. 

In  Gallam !  Who  can  comprehend 
what  mysterious  echoes  these  words 
awaken  in  the  heart  of  the  negro  exile  ? 

When  Jean  demanded  of  Fatou-gaye, 
long  ago  in  the  house  of  Cora: 

"Where  was  your  home,  little  one?" 
she  responded  in  tremulous  tones: 

"  In  the  land  of  Gallam." 

Poor  negroes  of  the  Soudan — exiled, 
driven  from  their  native  villages  by  all 
the  devastations  of  these  primitive  coun- 
tries ;  by  great  wars  and  great  famines ; 
sold  into  captivity,  sometimes  going  on 
foot  before  the  lash  of  a  master,  over  a 
country  more  extensive  than  Europe ! 
Still  the  memory  of  their  native  land  is 
ineffaceably  written  in  the  depths  of  their 
faithful  hearts. 


1 70         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

Where  formerly  could  be  seen,  in  the 
far  distant  Timbuctoo,  the  grand  palaces 
of  white  clay  of  Segou-Koro,  mirrored  in 
the  bright  waters  of  the  Niger,  or  where 
the  simple,  straw-thatched  villages  lifted 
their  pointed  roofs  in  the  heart  of  the 
desert,  or  in  some  deep  defile  of  the 
mountains  of  the  South,  there  the  pas- 
sage of  the  conqueror  has  left  but  a 
heap  of  ashes — a  charnel-house  for  the 
vultures. 

In  Gallam  !  Words  to  be  repeated  with 
mystery  and  contemplation  ! 

"  Some  day,"  said  Fatou-gaye  to  Jean, 
"  some  day  you  will  go  back  with  me 
into  the  land  of  Gallam." 

Old,  sacred  land,  of  which  she  dreamed 
for  hours  with  closed  eyes  !  The  land  of 
gold  and  ivory,  in  whose  warm  waters 
sleeps  the  alligator  in  the  shadows  of  the 
lofty  mangroves,  and  where  the  heavy 
foot  of  the  elephant  is  heard  striking  the 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  i  7 1 

ground  as  he  rushes  through  the  forest 
soHtudes. 

Formerly,  Jean  had  dreamed  of  seeing 
this  country;  Fatou-gaye  had  excited  his 
imagination  with  her  extraordinary  re- 
citals and  descriptions,  but  he  no  longer 
had  any  curiosity  to  see  more  of  the  coun- 
try of  Africa.  He  liked  better  to  con- 
tinue his  monotonous  life  at  Saint  Louis, 
always  to  be  ready  there  for  the  happy 
moment  of  his  return  to  the  beloved 
Cevennes. 

He  no  longer  wished  to  go  into  the 
land  of  Gallam,  where  the  air  was  so  hot 
and  oppressive,  and  he  began  to  have  a 
horror  of  burying  himself  in  the  suffoca- 
tion of  the  interior. 

He  dreamed  of  his  own  native  land, 
with  its  mountains  and  shining  rivers, 
and  thought  no  longer  of  the  land  of 
Fatou-gaye;  it  made  him  warm,  and  gave 
him  the  headache. 


172         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XIII. 

Fatou-gaye  could  not  look  upon  a  hip- 
popotamus without  running  the  fearful 
risk  of  dropping  dead  ;  it  was  a  curse 
thrown  over  her  family  many  years  before, 
in  the  land  of  Gallam. 

They  had  endeavored  in  every  way  to 
exorcise  the  spell,  but  in  vain,  and  there 
were  numerous  instances  of  persons  drop- 
ping dead  at  the  sight  of  these  enormous 
beasts,  and  the  curse  had  followed  her 
ancestors  unmercifully  for  several  gen- 
erations. 

In  the  Soudan,  it  is  no  unusual  thing 
to  hear  of  such  a  curse;  certain  families 
can  not  see  a  lion,  others  a  hippopotamus, 
and  others  an  alliorator — the  worst  mis- 
fortune  of  them  all,  a  misfortune  so  great 
that  charms  and  amulets  avail  nothing. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         173 

One  can  imagine  the  precautions  nec- 
essary to  be  taken  by  the  ancestors  of 
Fatou-gaye,  for  in  Gallam  the  hippopot- 
amus is  always  abroad,  roaming  about  in 
the  swamps,  where  he  loves  to  sport  in 
the  undergrowth  and  stagnant  waters. 

Fatou-gaye,  having  learned  there  was 
a  pet  hippopotamus  at  a  certain  house  in 
Saint  Louis,  always  avoided  passing  that 
way,  for  fear  of  yielding  to  the  great 
curiosity  she  had  to  look  upon  this  terri- 
ble beast,  of  which  her  friends  had  given 
her  minute  descriptions. 


I  74  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XIV. 

The  warm,  oppressive  days  passed  by 
in  dreary  monotony;  they  were  all  alike, 
never  any  change — the  same  regular 
duties  at  the  barracks,  the  same  burning 
sun  on  its  white  walls,  the  same  unbroken 
silence  resting  on  all  things. 

There  were  rumors  of  war  with  Bou- 
bakar-Segou,  the  son  of  El  Hadj,  and 
the  spahis  discussed  it  unceasingly,  for 
nothing  ever  happened  in  that  dead  city; 
the  sounds  from  Europe  seemed  extin- 
guished by  heat  and  distance. 

Winter  approached ;  the  breakers  on 
the  coast  were  calm,  and  there  were 
days  when  the  air  failed  the  lungs,  when 
the  warm  sea  waters  were  as  unruffled 
and  as  smooth  as  oil,  reflecting  like  a 
great  mirror  the  burning  tropical  lights. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.          1 75 

Jean  often  suffered  from  weariness  and 
lassitude  in  that  enervating  climate,  and 
from  time  to  time  with  homesickness, 
which  was  always  there  in  his  heart  ready 
to  awaken  to  make  him  suffer. 

Did  he  love  Fatou-gaye?  He  did  not 
know,  himself;  he  certainly  considered 
her  an  inferior  being — a  little  nearer  his 
equal,  perhaps,  than  his  yellow  wolf-dog — 
and  he  did  not  trouble  himself  to  ascertain 
what  other  feelings  he  had  for  the  little 
black  creature,  whose  soul  was  as  black 
as  her  skin. 

She  lied  and  dissimulated,  and  pos- 
sessed an  incredible  amount  of  malice  and 
perversity.  Jean  knew  this  ;  but  she  was 
so  absolutely  devoted  to  him — the  devo- 
tion of  a  dog  for  its  master,  the  adoration 
of  a  negro  for  his  fetich — that  he  was 
touched  and  softened  by  it. 

Sometimes  pride  awoke  in  his  heart, 
and  his  dignity  as  a  white  man  revolted 


I  76  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

at  the  life  he  was  leading.  The  troth  he 
had  plighted  with  Jeanne  Mery,  and  this 
treachery  to  this  little  black  creature, 
sometimes  rose  before  his  honest  con- 
science, and  he  was  ashamed  of  his  weak- 
ness, 

Fatou-gaye  had  grown  to  be  very  beau- 
tiful. As  she  walked,  supple  and  grace- 
ful, with  the  swinging  movement  which 
the  African  women  seem  to  have  bor- 
rowed from  the  feline  tribe  of  their  own 
country,  as  she  passed  along  with  a  white 
muslin  bon-bon  thrown  gracefully  over 
her  swelling  bosom  and  shapely  arms, 
she  possessed  the  lovely  grace  of  an 
ancient  amphora. 

Under  that  high  head-dress,  sparkling 
with  amber  and  jewels,  her  form  for  the 
moment  had  something  of  the  mysterious 
beauty  of  an  idol  of  polished  ebony. 

Her  great  dark  eyes,  encircled  with 
blue,  were  always  half  closed  and  dreamy, 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.        177 

and  when  she  smiled,  disclosing  her  pearly- 
white  teeth,  there  was  about  her  a  certain 
indescribable  charm  and  grace ;  a  combi- 
nation of  the  monkey,  the  young  virgin, 
and  the  tigress. 

Jean  had  a  superstitious  dread  of  her 
amulets;  not  that  he  had  any  faith  in 
them,  but  seeing  them  everywhere,  and 
knowing  they  were  kept  to  bind  him 
closer  to  her,  he  began  to  regard  them 
with  a  peculiar  horror. 

They  were  on  the  ceiling,  on  the  walls, 
concealed  under  the  mats,  on  the  sofa — 
they  were  everywhere  —  presenting  the 
fantastic  appearance  of  things  bewitched. 

When  he  awoke  in  the  morning  he  felt 
them  gliding  over  his  chest,  and  at  last  it 
seemed  that  he  was  irrevocably  entangled 
in  their  dark,  invisible  manacles. 

After  awhile  his  money  gave  out.  He 
declared  very  decidedly  that  he  would 
send   Fatou-gaye  away,  and  employ  the 


12 


V 


1 78         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

last  two  years  of  his  exile  in  winning  the 
golden  epaulets  of  a  quarter-master  that 
had  so  long  dazzled  his  eyes  and  hopes. 

He  determined  to  send  to  his  parents 
a  small  amount  each  month,  to  render 
their  lives  more  comfortable.  Then  he 
would  purchase  wedding  presents  for 
Jeanne  Mery,  and  he  would  also  lay 
aside  a  little  money  to  assist  him  in  de- 
fraying the  expenses  of  the  marriage  fes- 
tivities. 

Was  it  the  baleful  spell  of  the  amulets, 
the  force  of  habit,  or  the  inertia  of  his 
will-power  in  that  enervating  climate? 
For  Fatou-gaye  continued  to  hold  him 
under  her  little  black  hand — he  did  not 
send  her  away. 

Yet  he  dreamed  of  his  betrothed,  and 
there  was  a  radiance  around  his  memory 
of  her.  "  She  grows  more  beautiful  every 
day,"  they  had  written  him.  He  tried  to 
picture  her  as  his  wife,  with  all  the  lovely 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         179 

promise  of  her  youth  fulfilled,  and  his 
whole  heart  was  full  of  her  image. 

And  his  old  parents,  how  he  loved 
them  !  For  his  father  he  had  a  profound 
and  filial  love,  a  veneration  that  ap- 
proached idolatry.  But  the  most  tender, 
most  sacred  spot  in  his  heart  was  given 
to  his  mother. 

Take  soldiers,  sailors,  and  all  of  those 
young  men  abandoned  to  a  life  on  the 
great  seas,  or  in  lands  of  exile — take  the 
most  rude  and  careless,  the  most  dissi- 
pated, the  most  reckless  of  roues — look 
into  their  hearts,  and  nearly  always  you 
will  find  enthroned  in  that  sanctuary  a 
mother — an  old  peasant  woman,  perhaps  ; 
a  good  woman  from  Brittany  in  her  high 
white  cap,  or  a  woman  of  Biscay  with 
her  head-dress  of  woolen. 


i8o         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XV. 

Winter  arrived  for  the  fourth  time. 

The  days  were  sultry  and  oppressive, 
without  a  breath  of  air  stirring.  All 
along  the  coast  of  Africa,  the  sands  were 
dazzling  and  white  under  the  burning 
rays  of  the  sun. 

The  sea  waters  were  calm  and  un- 
ruffled, save  when  the  battles  of  the 
sharks  made  them  turbulent,  for  these 
were  the  days  for  the  great  fish  combats. 
Suddenly,  the  polished  surface  of  the 
waters  become  troubled  over  an  extent  of 
several  hundred  meters,  and  the  water  is 
tossed  up  violently  in  jets  and  sprays. 

This  agitation  is  caused  by  immense 
banks  of  fugitive  fish  scampering  away 
with  all  the  swiftness  of  their  millions  of 
fins,  before  the  hungry,  voracious  sharks 
in  pursuit  of  them. 


The  Ro7nance  of  a  Spahi.         i8i 

These  are  also  the  days  best  loved  by 
the  negro  boatmen  for  their  long,  swift 
boat-races,  and  the  shores  are  crowded 
with  black  people  who  stand  in  animated 
groups,  exciting  the  contestants  with  a 
great  tumult  of  cheers ;  and  there,  as  in 
France,  the  victors  are  welcomed  with  the 
clapping  of  hands,  and  the  vanquished 
with  hisses. 

Jean  never  appeared  at  the  barracks 
unless  his  presence  was  absolutely  needed; 
and  his  comrades  often  filled  his  place. 
The  officers  shut  their  eyes  to  this  ar- 
rangement, which  permitted  him  to  pass 
almost  the  entire  day  at  the  house  of 
Samba-Hamet. 

For  they  all  loved  Jean;  the  charm  of 
intelligence  and  honesty  redeemed  him, 
and  his  attractive  form,  voice,  and  man- 
ner had  gradually  cast  over  them  a  spell 
of  which  they  were  almost  unconscious. 
He  had,  in  spite  of  everything,  won  their 


1 82  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

esteem  and  respect,  at  the  same  time 
making  for  himself  a  sort  of  situation 
that  gave  him  almost  liberty  and  inde- 
pendence. 

One  day  he  entered  the  barracks  at 
call  of  retreat. 

The  old  quarters  did  not  wear  their 
accustomed  look  of  loneliness  and  gloom. 

Groups  of  spahis  were  ascending  and 
descending  the  stair-way,  conversing  ani- 
matedly and  noisily. 

There  was  something  in  the  air. 

"Good  news  for  you,  Peyral !"  cried 
Alsatian  Muller;  "  you  go  to-morrow  to 
Algeria,  lucky  fellow  that  you  are." 

Ten  or  twelve  spahis  had  arrived  from 
France  by  a  boat  from  Dakar,  and  as 
many  of  the  old  ones  were  to  be  sent,  as  a 
special  favor,  to  finish  their  time  of  service 
in  Algeria. 

Jean  was  among  the  number.  They 
were  to  leave  the  next  morning  for  Dakar, 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         183 

where  they  would  take  a  packet-boat  des- 
tined for  Bordeaux.  Then  they  would 
go  to  Marseilles  by  way  of  the  south,  and, 
with  the  delays  of  the  route,  would  catch 
a  glimpse  of  their  native  land.  At  Mar- 
seilles they  would  take  a  packet-boat  for 
Algeria,  a  land  of  milk  and  honey  for  the 
soldier;  and  so  the  last  years  of  their 
service  would  pass  away  as  a  dream. 


184         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XVI. 

Jean  returned  to  his  lodgings,  strolling 
along  the  deserted  banks  of  the  river, 

A  starry  night  had  fallen  upon  the  Sen- 
egal ;  the  fragile  crescent  of  the  moon 
hung  low  on  the  horizon  ;  fires  were  flash- 
ing on  the  opposite  bank  of  the  river  in 
the  negro  village  of  Sorr,  tracing  on  the 
still,  warm  waters  their  vague  lights  and 
shadows. 

In  the  distance  he  heard  the  deafening 
noise  of  the  tam-tam  sounding  the  spring- 
time revelry,  which  he  had  heard  four 
times  already  at  the  same  place,  and 
which  was  blended  with  the  memory  of 
his  first  enervating  pleasures  in  Africa ; 
it  now  saluted  him  on  his  departure. 

His  mind  was  troubled  ;  his  thoughts 
and  impressions  were  confused  and  in- 
coherent. 

/ 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.         185 

The  air  was  full  of  heat  and  phos- 
phorus; a  tranquil  melancholy,  a  calm  full 
of  mystery,  rested  on  all  the  borders  of 
the  Senegal. 

Was  it  really  true,  this  unexpected 
news  ?  It  had  been  whispered  for  a  long 
time  ;  now  it' was  confirmed,  and  his  name 
was  on  the  list.  To-morrow  he  would  de- 
scend the  river,  never  to  return  ! 

Preparations  for  their  departure  would 
not  begin  until  to-morrow;  this  evening 
there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  dream — 
to  bid  adieu  to  all  things  in  that  land  of 
exile. 

In  less  than  a  month,  he  would  proba- 
bly pay  a  flying  visit  to  his  native  village ; 
he  would  embrace  his  old  parents,  and 
the  betrothed  of  his  boyhood  —  Jeanne 
Mery,  now  grown  into  a  serious  woman — 
he  would  see  them  all  in  passing,  as  in  a 
dream. 

But  he  was  not  prepared  for  the  meet- 


1 86  The  Roma?ice  of  a  Spahi. 

ing,  and  painful  reflections  mingled  with 
his  great,  unexpected  happiness. 

He  was  about  to  return,  after  an  ab- 
sence of  four  years,  almost  a  beggar — 
without  even  having  won  the  modest 
shoulder-straps  of  a  sergeant — and  shab- 
bily dressed,  for  he  would  not  have  time 
to  provide  himself  with  a  new  and  suitable 
outfit  in  which  to  make  his  appearance  at 
the  village. 

And  then  to  acclimate  himself  in  Al- 
geria— to  spend  the  remaining  years  of 
his  service  anywhere  but  on  the  banks  of 
the  gloomy  Senegal,  whose  sadness  was 
now  so  familiar  to  him  ! 

Alas !  he  loved  the  Senegal;  he  realized 
now  that  he  was  attached  to  that  unfort- 
unate country  by  a  number  of  strong  and 
mysterious  ties. 

He  had  been  foolishly  overjoyed  at  the 
thought  of  his  return,  yet  he  loved  the 
land  of  sand,  the  house  of  Samba-Hamet, 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         187 

the  excessive  light  and  heat,  and  even  the 
great  gloom  and  silence;  he  was  not  pre- 
pared to  leave  it  all  so  suddenly. 

The  effluvium,  the  subtle  exhalations, 
all  that  by  which  he  was  surrounded,  had 
by  degrees  become  infiltered  into  the 
blood  in  his  veins.  He  felt  an  invisible 
power  holding  him  back  as  if  he  was 
inextricably  entangled  in  the  gloomy 
shackles  of  those  amulets. 

His  brain  was  confused  ;  he  was  dazed  ; 
this  sudden   deliverance  frightened  him. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XVII. 

Military  departures  are  always  sudden. 
The  following  day,  the  baggage  was  hastily 
packed,  the  papers  put  in  order,  and  Jean 
found  himself  leaning  over  the  side  of  the 
vessel,  descending  the  river. 

Throucjh  the  smoke  from  his  cig^arette 
he  could  see  Saint  Louis  disappearing  in 
the  distance  ;  crouching  near  him  on  the 
deck  was  Fatou-gaye  with  all  her  posses- 
sions, inclosed  in  haste  in  three  large 
gourds. 

Jean  had  taken  his  last  franc  to  pay  her 
way  to  Dakar  ;  he  had  done  so  willingly, 
happy  to  rid  himself  of  this  last  phantasy, 
but  glad  to  keep  her  a  little  longer  under 
his  protection.  The  tears  which  she  shed, 
the  cris  de  veuve,  as  was  customary  in  her 
own  country,  were  heart-rending  to  hear, 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.         189 

and  touched  him  deeply;  he  forgot  that 
she  was  wicked,  deceitful,  and  black. 

As  his  heart  expanded  with  joy  at  the 
thoughts  of  his  return,  his  pity  and  ten- 
derness for  Fatou-gaye  increased ;  he 
would  carry  her  with  him  as  far  as  Da- 
kar— it  was  time  gained  in  which  to  decide 
what  to  do  with  her. 


I  go  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XVIII. 

Dakar  is  an  old  colonial  town  built  on 
sand  and  rocks  of  a  reddish  color — an  im- 
provised harbor  for  the  packet-boats  of 
that  western  point  of  Africa  called  Cape 
Verd. 

Here  and  there  on  the  desolate  sand- 
hills grew  the  mighty  baobabs,  and  over 
the  whole  country  floated  dense  clouds  of 
vultures  and  eagle-fishers. 

Fatou-gaye  was  temporarily  installed 
there  in  the  house  of  a  mulattress.  She 
declared  that  she  did  not  wish  to  return 
to  Saint  Louis,  and  there  her  plans  ended. 
She  knew  not  what  would  become  of  her; 
neither  did  Jean,  for  he  had  failed  to 
reach  any  decision  in  regard  to  her,  and 
besides,  he  had  no  money. 

The  next  morning,  a  few  hours  before 


The  Ro7nance  of  a  Spahi.  191 

the  departure  of  the  packet-boat,  Fatou- 
gaye  crouched  on  the  floor  in  the  hut  of 
the  mulattress,  beside  her  three  gourds. 
She  was  speechless ;  her  eyes  were  fixed 
and  immovable,  full  of  grief  and  wild  de- 
spair, as  if  her  heart  was  broken. 

Jean  stood  near  her  twisting  his  mous- 
tache, not  knowing  what  to  do. 

Suddenly  the  door  opened  noisily,  and 
a  spahi  entered  like  the  wind,  his  eyes 
flashing  with  excitement,  his  manner  anx- 
ious and  confused. 

It  was  Pierre  Boyer,  who  for  more 
than  a  year  had  been  the  comrade  and 
room-mate  of  Jean  at  Saint  Louis. 

They  were  both  reserved,  and  rarely 
ever  spoke,  but  they  esteemed  each  other, 
and  when  Boyer  went  to  serve  at  Goree, 
they  grasped  each  other's  hands  with  cor- 
diality. 

Taking  off  his  cap,  Pierre  murmured  a 
rapid   excuse  for  entering   so  unceremo- 


192         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

niousiy,  and  trembling  with  emotion,  he 
took  Jean's  hand. 

"  Peyral,"  said  he,  "  I  have  been  search- 
ing for  you  all  day;  listen  to  me  a  mo- 
ment. I  have  a  great  favor  to  ask  of 
you  ;  hear  what  it  is,  and  reflect  on  it. 
To-morrow  you  are  going  to  Algeria. 
Alas !  to-morrow  I  go  to  Guadiangue, 
in  Ouankarah,  with  some  others  from 
Goree.  They  are  fighting  there  ;  it  will 
only  be  for  three  months,  and  you  will 
surely  gain  promotion  or  a  medal.  We 
have  the  same  time,  are  the  same  age,  so 
it  will  not  change  the  time  for  your  re- 
turn home.  Peyral,  will  you  exchange 
places  with  me  }  " 

Jean  had  divined  it  from  the  first ;  his 
eyes  were  dilated  with  intense  emotion  ; 
a  tumultuous  flood  of  thoughts,  convic- 
tions, and  indecisions  rushed  through  his 
brain  ;  he  lowered  his  head,  folded  his 
arms  in  deep  thought.     Fatou-gaye,  who 


The  Romance  of  a  Spain.         193 

understood  it  all,  arose,  panting,  breath- 
less, awaiting  the  sentence  that  was  about 
to  fall  from  his  lips,  which  she  trembled 
to  hear. 

"  Peyral,"  continued  Boyer,  "  you  will 
make  a  good  thing  of  this — " 

"Have  you  asked  the  others?"  said 
Jean. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "but  they  have  re- 
fused me ;  they  have  good  reasons  for  it, 
but  it  will  just  suit  you.  The  Governor 
of  Goree  is  interested  in  me,  and  prom- 
ises you  his  protection  if  you  will  ex- 
change. We  thought  of  you  at  first 
(looking  at  Fatou-gaye),  for  you  like  this 
country.  On  your  return  from  Guadian- 
gue,  you  will  go  to  finish  your  service  at 
Saint  Louis;  they  have  agreed  to  this, 
and  it  shall  be  done,  I  swear  to  you." 

"  But  we  will  not  have  lime  to  arrange 
matters,"  interrupted  Jean,  who,  feeling 
lost;  wished  to  recover  himself  if  possible. 


13 


194         T"^^  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

"Yes,"  said  Boyer,  "we  have  the 
whole  afternoon  before  us  ;  you  will  have 
nothing  to  do,  all  has  been  arranged  with 
the  Governor;  the  papers  are  ready,  your 
signature  is  all  that  is  needed.  I  will  go 
to  Goree  and  return  in  two  hours,  and  all 
will  be  done.  Listen,  Peyral :  here  are 
my  savings,  three  hundred  francs  ;  they 
are  yours,  to  install  yourself  on  your  re- 
turn to  Saint  Louis,  or  to  spend  as  you 
wish." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Jean;  "but  I  will 
not  accept  pay  for  this ; "  and  he  turned 
away  his  head  proudly. 

And  Boyer,  who  saw  that  he  was  of- 
fended, grasped  his  hand,  saying  gently: 

"  Do  not  be  angry,  Peyral."  And  they 
stood  before  each  other,  speechless  and 
silent. 

Fatou-gaye,  who  saw  that  she  might 
lose  all  by  speaking,  knelt  on  the  floor, 
reciting  prayers,  embracing  Jean's  knees, 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         195 

and  endeavoring  to  drag  him  toward 
her. 

Jean,  who  was  ashamed  that  Boyer 
should  witness  such  a  scene,  said  roughly: 

"  Leave  me,  Fatou-gaye,  I  entreat  you. 
You  are  becoming  silly." 

But  Boyer  did  not  regard  the  scene 
as  ridiculous ;  on  the  contrary,  he  was 
touched  by  it. 

The  sunlight  crept  through  the  open 
door,  and  illuminated  their  gay  uniforms 
and  lighted  up  their  handsome,  "animated 
faces,  now  so  full  of  anxiety  and  inde- 
cision. It  fell  on  the  silver  rings  that 
encircled  the  arms  of  Fatou-gaye,  and 
made  them  shine  like  glittering  serpents. 

There  they  stood,  those  three  aban- 
doned human  beings,  in  the  poor,  bare 
hut  of  wood  and  straw,  with  beating 
hearts  and  flashing  eyes,  about  to  decide 
their  destinies. 

•'  Peyral,'    continued   Boyer,   in    a  low, 


196         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

gentle  voice,  "it  is  because  I  am  an  Al- 
gerian; you  know  what  this  means.  In 
that  country  there  is  a  village  where  my 
parents  are  expecting  me.  I  am  their 
only  child ;  you  ought  to  know  what  it  is 
to  return  to  one's  country." 

"Well,  yes,"  said  Jean;  "I  will  ex- 
change;" and  throwing  his  red  cap  behind 
him,  he  stamped  the  ground  with  his  foot. 
"I  will  remain.     Let  us  go." 

Pierre  clasped  him  in  his  arms  and  em- 
braced him,  and  Fatou-gaye  raised  a 
shout  of  triumph ;  then  hiding  herself  be- 
hind Jean,  shook  with  sobs,  which  ended 
in  bursts  of  nervous  laughter. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.         197 


XIX. 

It  was  necessary  to  hasten  ;  Pierre 
Boyer  went  as  he  came,  without  cere- 
mony. 

He  hurried  to  Goree,  bearini;-  the  pre 
cious  paper  to  which  Jean  had  placed  his 
soldier's  signature,  correctly  and  legibly 
written.  It  was  signed  and  countersigned, 
his  baggage  was  transferred,  and  the  sub- 
stitution effected. 

All  was  concluded  so  rapidly  that  the 
two  spahis  had  no  time  for  reflection,  and 
promptly  at  four  o'clock  the  packet-boat 
put  itself  en  route,  carrying  away  Pierre 
Boyer,  and  leaving  poor  Jean  behind. 

When  all  was  irrevocably  ended  and 
Jean  found  himself  alone  on  the  sandy 
beach  watching  the  departing  vessel,  he 
grew  desperate,  and  his    heart   was   full 


198         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

of  anguish  and  terror  at  what  he  had 
done. 

He  became  enraged  with  Fatou-gaye  ; 
her  presence  horrified  him,  and  he  drove 
her  away  from  him. 

He  felt  as  if  he  had  just  signed  a  com- 
pact of  death  with  the  black  country, 
which  seemed  to  possess  for  him  a  fatal 
fascination. 

He  ran  along  the  sands  without  know- 
ing where  he  was  going ;  he  wished  to 
breathe  the  fresh  air,  to  be  alone,  and  to 
follow  with  his  eye  as  long  as  he  could 
the  disappearing  boat. 

The  sun  was  yet  high  when  he  started 
out,  and  under  the  great,  blazing  luminary 
the  desert  plains  had  an  impressive 
majesty. 

For  a  long  time  he  walked  on  the  wild 
coast,  then  on  the  crests  of  the  sand-hills, 
and  rtihen  high  up  on  the  ruddy  cliffs,  to 
catch  the  last  glimpse  of  the  vessel  fast 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         199 

fading  from  view  in  the  distance,  flying 
over  the  waters  before  a  strong  wind. 

He  was  so  distracted  with  grief  that  he 
no  longer  felt  the  burning  rays  of  the 
sun  ;  he  thought  of  the  years  that  he  had 
yet  to  spend  in  that  gloomy  land,  when 
he  could  have  been  yonder,  swiftly  sailing 
toward  his  dear  old  home. 

What  malignant  influence,  what  charm, 
what  amulet,  had  kept  him  there,  great 
God! 

He  walked  onward  toward  the  north 
so  as  not  to  lose  sight  of  the  boat  which 
was  rapidly  disappearing.  A  shower  of 
startled  locusts  beat  against  his  face  and 
breast  as  he  passed  through  the  winter 
herbs ;  his  hands  were  torn  and  bleeding 
from  contact  with  the  thorny  plants. 

He  had  gone  a  great  distance  into  the 
depths  of  a  rough,  savage  country  in  the 
direction  of  Cape  Verd. 

For  some  time  he  had  seen  ahead  of 


200         The  Romance  of  a  Spaki, 

him,  afar  off,  a  large,  isolated  tree,  more 
immense  even  than  the  baobab,  with  a 
dense,  dark  foliage- — a  giant  of  the  flora  of 
the  ancient  world,  forgotten  there  for 
ages. 

He  sat  down,  exhausted,  on  the  sands 
beneath  this  great  dome  of  shadows,  and 
bowing  his  head,  began  to  weep.  When 
he  arose,  the  boat  had  vanished,  and 
nigrht  had  fallen. 

The  evening  was  clear  and  cool ;  as  the 
twilight  shadows  deepened,  the  immense 
tree  rose  like  a  great  black  mass  on  the 
desolate  plains. 

Before  him  lay  the  tranquil  sea,  the 
terraced  cliffs,  and  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
see,  the  mighty  Cape  Verd,  with  its  mo- 
notonous plains,  divided  into  deep  defiles 
and  ravines,  a  dismal  and  dreary  country 
with  little  vegetation  of  any  kind. 

Behind  him,  in  the  direction  of  the  in- 
terior, were  mysterious  ridges  of  low  hills. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi,         201 

and  in  the  distance  the  great  baobabs, 
casting  shadows  like  those  of  the  madre- 
pore. 

The  atmosphere  was  dense  and  heavy 
almost  to  suffocation  ;  the  sun  went  down 
in  thick  vapors,  its  yellow  disc  strangely 
increased  and  distorted  in  the  miragre. 

The  air  was  filled  with  perfumes  from 
the  large  white  blossoms  of  the  datura 
and  the  sickly  odor  of  the  belladonna. 
Myriads  of  moths  flitted  about  these 
poisonous  flowers,  and  from  the  bushes 
sounded  the  plaintive  notes  of  the  ring- 
dove. 

The  whole  land  was  covered  with  a 
deadly  vapor,  and  the  horizon  was  dull, 
sombre,  and  almost  indefinable. 

And  there  behind  him  lay  the  interior, 
which  to  him  was  once  so  full  of  wonder 
and  mystery — now  it  was  nothing  to  him. 
Podor,  nor  Medina,  the  land  of  Gallam, 
nor   the   far   distant    Timbuctoo — he    no 


202  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi, 

longer  wished  to  see  them  ;  his  heart  di- 
vined their  gloom,  sadness,  and  suffoca- 
tion. His  thoughts  were  of  his  own 
country,  and  he  only  desired  to  free  him- 
self from  this  horrible  nightmare  and  de- 
part at  any  price. 

The  tall  African  shepherds  with  fierce 
and  savage  countenances  passed  him, 
driving  toward  the  village  their  lean, 
hump-backed  beeves. 

The  image  of  the  sun,  which  is  called  in 
the  Bible  "a  sign  in  the  heavens,"  van- 
ished as  quickly  as  a  pale  meteor,  and  it 
was  night.  Above  him,  the  boughs  of  the 
mighty  tree  formed  a  gloomy  temple.  He 
fell  asleep,  and  dreamed  of  his  own  home 
at  this  hour  on  summer  evenings ;  of  his 
mother,  his  betrothed ;  then  he  dreamed 
that  he  was  dead,  and  would  never  see 
them  again. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         203 


XX. 

The  die  was  cast,  and  it  was  necessary 
for  him  to  go  on  to  the  end  of  his  destiny. 

Two  days  afterward,  Jean  embarked  in 
the  place  of  his  friend  on  board  of  a  little 
man-of-war  vessel,  to  report  at  the  distant 
post  of  Guadiangue,  in  Ouankarah,  where 
they  were  sending  men  and  munitions  to 
reinforce  that  obscure  post. 

In  the  adjoining  country  affairs  were 
in  a  confused  state,  so  much  so  that  cara- 
vans could  no  longer  cross  the  desert. 

It  was  a  dispute  between  the  negroes 
of  different  rapacious  tribes  and  pillaging 
kings,  which  would  no  doubt  be  settled 
during  the  winter,  when  Jean,  according 
to  the  promise  made  by  the  Governor  to 
Boyer,  would  be  returned  to  Saint  Louis, 
to  end  his  years  of  service. 


204         '^^^  Romance  of  a  Spaki. 

There  were  many  people  crowded  on 
the  little  vessel.  Fatou-gaye  was  there ; 
she  had  succeeded  in  getting  aboard  with 
her  usual  cunning  and  persistence,  passing 
herself  off  as  the  wife  of  a  black  sharp- 
shooter ;  she  had  followed  Jean,  with  her 
three  gourds. 

Then  there  was  a  regiment  of  soldiers 
from  Goree,  who  had  been  in  encamp- 
ment there  for  a  season,  and  about  twenty 
native  sharp-shooters  with  their  whole 
families. 

It  was  a  curious  mixture,  for  they  had 
several  wives  apiece,  and  numerous  chil- 
dren ;  besides,  they  were  taking  with  them 
their  provisions,  millet  in  gourds,,  and 
their  clothes,  also  packed  in  gourds, 
their  amulets,  and  a  crowd  of  domestic 
animals.  There  was  a  great  agitation  on 
board  at  the  time  of  their  departure  ;  a 
great  entanglement  of  people  and  things. 

The  negresses  slept  tranquilly  on   the 


The  Rotnance  of  a  Spahi.         205 

floor  of  the  deck,  wrapped  up  in  their 
clothes,  as  close  together  as  sardines  in 
a  box. 

The  vessel  moved  gently  southward, 
and  was  soon  lost  in  regions  where  the 
tropical  heat  every  moment  became  more 
and  more  intense. 


2o6  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XXI. 

It  was  a  night  of  equatorial  calm;  an 
absolute  silence  reigned;  the  air  was  still 
and  motionless,  and  there  was  scarcely  a 
perceptible  movement  of  the  sails. 

The  warm  sea  waters  were  gleaming 
and  phosphorescent,  reflecting  as  in  an 
immense  mirror  the  brilliant  heavens 
above  them  ;  they  were  like  two  great  mir- 
rors— the  sea  and  the  sky — reflecting  each 
other,  blending  in  the  distance. 

The  vessel  seemed  to  be  sailing  through 
a  terrible  gulf  with  no  horizon,  where  all 
was  overwhelmed  in  a  cosmic  profundity, 
vague  and  infinite  ;  the  moon  dipped  into 
the  sea,  a  blood-red  circle  without  a  ray, 
amid  vapors  pale  and  phosphorescent. 

In  the  first  geological  ages,  before  day 
was   separated  from   darkness,    when  all 


The  Ro77tance  of  a  Spahi.       207 

things  wore  the  tranquillity  of  expectation, 
the  repose  between  the  creations  must 
have  been  a  grand  and  inexpressible  im- 
mobility. At  that  epoch  when  the  world 
was  not  yet  condensed,  when  the  clouds 
were  suspended,  uncreated  lead  and  iron, 
when  all  eternal  matter  was  sublimated  in 
the  intense  heat  of  a  primitive  chaos — 
what  a  sublime  silence  then  ! 


2o8  The  Roina7ice  of  a  Spahi. 


XXII. 

They  had  been  en  route  three  days. 

At  sunrise,  when  all  things  were  ghtter- 
ing  in  the  Hght  of  golden  clouds,  they 
saw  far  away  in  the  distance  a  line  of 
green — an  indescribable  green — that  brill- 
iant color  with  which  the  Chinese  paint- 
ers trace  on  a  fan  some  gorgeous  land- 
scape. 

This  line  was  the  coast  of  Guinea. 
On  arriving  at  the  mouth  of  the  Diak- 
halleme,  the  vessel  directed  its  course  to- 
ward the  wide  entrance  of  the  river. 

The  country  there  is  as  flat  as  that  of 
the  Senegal;  otherwise  the  face  of  nature 
is  entirely  different  Everywhere  there  is 
an  equatorial  verdure  of  eternal  freshness, 
and  the  foliage  on  the  trees  is  a  bright 
emerald  green,  a  color  which  the  trees  in 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         209 

France    never   attain,  even    in    the    leafy 
month  of  June. 

All  along  the  banks  of  the  river  there 
are  forests  of  a  uniform  breadth,  overshad- 
owing warm,  inert  waters — forests  full 
of  poisonous  odors  and  venomous  reptiles. 

This  country,  as  all  of  Africa,  rests 
under  a  spell  of  gloom  and  silence;  yet  it 
is  a  great  relief  for  the  eye  after  the 
monotony  of  the  sands  of  the  desert. 

At  the  village  of  Ponpoubal,  on  the 
Diakhalleme,  the  vessel  landed  its  passen- 
gers to  await  the  canoes  which  would 
carry  them  to  their  destination. 

On  this  July  night  at  nine  o'clock, 
Jean,  with  Fatou-gaye  and  the  spahisfrom 
Goree,  took  their  places  in  a  canoe  man- 
ned by  six  black  rowers  under  the  guid- 
ance of  Samba-Boubon,  the  most  experi- 
enced pilot  on  the  rivers  of  Guinea,  to 
proceed  to  Guadiangue,  situated  several 
leagues  up  the  river. 

14 


2IO         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

The  night  was  warm,  starry,  and  cloud- 
less— a  real  equatorial  night. 

They  glided  up  the  calm  river  with 
astonishing  swiftness,  borne  toward  the 
interior  by  the  rapid  current  and  the  inde- 
fatigable efforts  of  the  rowers.  The  banks 
of  the  river  faded  away  into  obscurity, 
and  forest  after  forest  fled  by  them. 

Samba-Boubon  led  the  chant  of  the 
rowers,  sometimes  pitching  his  plaintive, 
ringing  voice  on  the  highest  key,  then 
descending  suddenly  to  low,  soft  notes 
full  of  a  strange  melancholy. 

Then  the  chorus  would  begin,  slow 
and  grave,  and  all  through  the  night  was 
heard  that  plaintive  voice,  always  followed 
by  the  same  response  from  the  rowers. 

For  a  long  time  they  chanted  the  praises 
of  the  spahis,  their  horses,  and  even  their 
dogs,  and  at  last  the  praises  of  the  family 
of  Soumare,  and  of  Saboutane,  a  legend- 
ary woman  of  the  coast  of  Gambia. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         2 1 1 

When  fatigue  or  sleep  relaxed  the  reg- 
ular movement  of  their  oars,  Samba-Bou- 
bon  hissed  through  his  teeth  like  a  ser- 
pent, and  this  hissing  was  repeated  by  all 
the  rowers,  who  became  reanimated  in 
their  ardor  as  if  by  magic. 

All  night  long  they  glided  past  the 
great  forests  sacred  in  the  religion  of  the 
Mandingoes,  whose  ancient  trees  extended 
overhead  their  gaunt  and  angular  branches 
like  gigantic  structures  of  bones  dimly 
defined  in  the  starlight — grand  rigidities 
of  stone. 

The  songs  of  the  rowers,  the  rushing 
of  the  waters,  the  weird  chatterings  of  the 
monkeys  in  the  woods,  and  the  cries  of  the 
marsh-birds  mingled  their  sad,  nocturnal 
voices  in  the  depths  of  the  forest;  and 
sometimes  in  the  distance  they  heard  the 
cries  of  human  beings,  the  cries  of  the 
dying,  the  firing  of  guns,  and  the  deafen- 
ing strokes  of  the  warlike  tam-tam,  all 


212  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

blending  in  a  wild  harmony  with  the  mel- 
ancholy music  of  the  black  rowers. 

As  they  passed  the  outskirts  of  some 
of  the  villages  along  the  route,  the  forests 
were  brilliantly  illuminated  by  the  light 
of  blazing  fires,  for  there  was  warfare  in 
all  that  country — Sarakholes  against  Lan- 
doumans,  Nalous  against  Tonbacayces — 
and  many  of  the  villages  were  fired. 

For  leagues  there  was  silence — the 
silence  of  night  in  deep  forests — unbroken 
save  by  the  monotonous  chants  and  the 
muffled  sound  of  the  oars  dividing  the 
still  waters  through  the  region  of  shadows. 

They  were  borne  along  swiftly  toward 
the  interior ;  the  rowers  rowed  with  fury 
and  superhuman  force,  and  as  they  neared 
their  destination,  they  seemed  electrified 
as  with  a  fever. 

At  last  the  dim  outlines  of  a  high  rock 
rose  before  them,  from  which  gleamed 
bright  lights. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         2 1 3 

Samba-Boubon  waved  a  torch,  and 
raised  a  rallying  cry;  the  inhabitants  of 
Guadiangue  came  to  meet  them,  and  their 
journey  was  at  an  end. 

Guadiangue  is  perched  upon  the  sum- 
mit of  a  vertical  rock,  which  they  ascended 
by  tortuous  paths,  illuminated  by  the 
flaring  torches  of  the  blacks. 

When  they  reached  the  top  of  the  rock, 
they  were  conducted  to  a  large  flat  house 
which  had  been  prepared  for  them,  where 
they  slept  on  the  ground  on  mats,  await- 
ing the  break  of  day. 


2  1 4  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XXIII. 

After  a  few  hours  of  sleep,  Jean  was 
the  first  to  awaken,  and  on  opening  his 
eyes  he  saw  the  daylight  gleaming 
through  the  chinks  of  the  wooden  house, 
revealing  the  prostrate  forms  of  his  com- 
panions reposing  on  the  ground,  their 
heads  resting  on  their  clothes. 

There  were  Bretons,  Alsatians,  and 
Picards,  all  with  the  blonde  hair  of  the 
North;  and  Jean  in  the  first  moments  of 
his  awakening  had  a  kind  of  dazed  con- 
ception of  the  sad  scene,  and  he  thought 
of  all  these  young  lives  wasted  in  a  coun- 
try of  exile,  and  some  of  them  so  soon  to 
meet  death. 

Reclining  near  them  was  the  graceful 
form  of  Fatou-gaye,  her  black  arms,  en- 
circled with  silver  rings,  thrown  above  her 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         2 1 5 

head  ;  those  supple  arms  which  he  knew 
on  her  awakening  would  be  so  eager  to 
entwine  about  him. 

It  began  to  dawn  upon  him  that  he  was 
lost  in  the  depths  of  an  immense  savage 
region,  farther  than  ever  from  his  native 
land ;  so  far  that  even  a  letter  could  not 
reach  him — in  an  obscure  village  of 
Guinea. 

He  rose  noiselessly,  so  as  not  to  awaken 
Fatou-gaye'and  the  spahis,  and  approach- 
ed an  open  window  to  get  a  glimpse  of 
this  unknown  country. 

The  village  crowned  a  precipice  more 
than  a  hundred  metres  high,  and  the  hut 
in  which  he  stood  seemed  suspended  in 
the  air.  At  his  feet  was  spread  out  a 
landscape  of  the  interior,  scarcely  visible 
in  the  pale  morning  light.  There  were 
abrupt  hills  covered  with  an  unfamiliar 
vegetation,  at  the  foot  of  which  flowed 
the  river    that   had   brought   him   there, 


2i6         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

gliding  like  a  silver  ribbon  through  the 
marshes,  half  veiled  in  a  white  cloud  of 
morning  vapors. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         217 


XXIV. 

Jean  left  the  house  and  started  put  for 
a  stroll  through  the  village;  he  could 
have  imagined  himself  anywhere  than  in 
an  obscure  corner  of  the  interior  of 
Africa. 

The  verdure,  the  bright  foliage  of  the 
trees,  the  limpid  river  flowing  over  a  bed 
of  many-colored  stones,  between  two  walls 
of  humid,  polished  rocks,  made  the  scene 
one  of  picturesque  beauty. 

Scattered  about  everywhere  were  groups 
of  women  with  complexions  of  a  reddish- 
brown,  the  color  of  the  rocks,  washing 
their  clothes  in  the  river,  and  relating 
with  animation  the  thrilling  events  of  a 
combat  the  night  previous.  Warriors 
were  passing  and  repassing  over  the  ford, 
armed  cap-a-pie,  ready  for  battle  at  a 
moment's  notice. 


2 1 8         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

There  was  a  certain  novelty  about  all 
this  which  delighted  Jean  ;  it  was  so  dif- 
ferent from  the  oppressive  silence  and 
gloom  which  weighs  on  the  hearts  and 
spirits  of  those  who  dwell  on  the  banks 
of  the  Senegal. 

He  felt  the  exhilarating  charm  of  the 
forests,  flowers,  hills,  and  bright  waters ; 
there  was  nothing  sad  or  depressing  in 
this  terrible  splendor  in  nature. 

Suddenly  he  heard  the  deafening  noise 
of  the  tam-tam,  the  music  of  war,  and  it 
approached  so  near  that  Jean  and  the 
women  who  were  washing  in  the  stream 
ran  to  look  out  through  the  blue  openings 
in  the  rocks.  An  ally  chief  was  passing 
above  them  with  great  pomp  and  splen- 
dor, marching  to  the  sound  of  martial 
music,  the  arms  and  trinkets  of  the  war- 
riors in  his  suite  flashing  in  the  blaze  of 
the  sunlight  as  they  moved  along. 

It  was  nearly  midday  before  Jean   re- 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.         219 

turned  to  his  quarters  in  the  village,  walk- 
ing through  verdant  paths  in  the  shade  of 
the  trees  overhanging  the  streets.  Some 
of  the  houses  in  Guadiangue  are  high, 
and  almost  elegant  under  their  tall  roofs 
of  stubble. 

Although  the  foliage  and  vegetation 
wore  the  vivid  colors  of  early  spring-time, 
and  the  shadowy  forests  looked  cool  and 
inviting,  the  days  were  extremely  hot  and 
oppressive.  In  the  morning,  even  before 
sunrise,  in  these  forests  inhabited  by 
monkeys,  green  parrots,  and  rare  hum- 
ming-birds, the  air  was  hot  and  em- 
poisoned with  deadly  odors;  serpents 
glided  through  the  wet  herbs,  and  it 
seemed  that  all  the  heat  of  the  equator 
had  concentrated  there. 

Jean  began  to  regard  his  sojourn  in 
Ouankarah  as  a  time  of  delightful  freedom 
in  a  country  marvelous  for  the  beauty  of 
its  vegetation    and    the   grandeur  of   its 


220         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

forests ;  a  happy  respite  after  the  crush- 
ing monotony  and  gloom  of  his  life  at 
Saint  Louis. 

In  three  months,  as  was  predicted,  the 
country  was  at  peace  ;  war  and  the 
slaughter  of  the  blacks  was  at  an  end. 

Caravans  began  to  pass  again,  bringing 
to  Guadiangue  from  the  depths  of  the 
interior  gold,  ivory,  feathers,  and  other 
products  of  Guinea  and  the  Soudan. 

An  order  was  received  for  the  reinforce- 
ments to  return,  and  a  vessel  came  to  meet 
them  at  the  entrance  of  the  river  to  carry 
them  back  to  the  Senegal. 

But  they  were  not  all  there,  poor  spahis  ; 
some  of  them  were  left  sleeping  under  the 
burning  sun,  far  away  from  home  and 
friends,  victims  of  the  deadly  African 
fever. 

Jean's  hour  had  not  yet  come,  and  he 
descended  the  river  in  the  canoe  of 
Samba-  Boubon. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spain.         221 


XXV. 

The  journey  in  the  canoe  was  begun 
this  time  at  full  midday.  The  waters 
were  stagnant  and  motionless  ;  the  sun 
was  in  the  zenith,  and  the  heat  was  so 
terrible  that  the  black  rowers  in  spite  of 
their  courao^e  were  forced  to  cease  rowinor. 
The  canoe  drifted  slowly  on,  drawn  gently, 
almost  insensibly,  by  the  river  current. 

The  water  failed  to  appease  their  thirst, 
and  they  were  exhausted  and  bathed  in 
perspiration.  »  Sometimes  they  rowed 
close  to  the  banks,  to  profit  by  the  dense 
but  dangerous  shade  of  the  forest  trees. 
Then  the  spahis  caught  a  glimpse  of 
people  moving  about  in  the  deep  shadows 
of  the  mangroves,  for  there  is  a  race  of 
people  who  inhabit  the  marshes  of  Africa, 
dwelling  there  among  the  great  roots  of 
those  trees. 


222  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

And  there,  not  two  paces  from  them, 
were  serpents  gHding  along  so  gently  that 
they  did  not  awaken  the  sleeping  birds. 
Great  blue  alligators  were  stretched  out 
lazily  in  the  mud,  their  slimy  mouths 
gaping  wide.  On  their  backs  were  perched 
airy  white  aigrettes,  who  slept  there  to 
escape  the  mud  that  covered  everything. 

Martin-fishers  with  brilliant  plumage 
were  taking  their  afternoon  siesta,  in  com- 
pany with  the  lizards,  on  the  branches  of 
the  trees  almost  dipping  in  the  sluggish 
waters. 

Rare  butterflies  flitted  hare  and  there  ; 
with  their  gorgeous  wings  closed,  hiding  all 
their  metallic  splendor,  they  resembled 
dead  leaves,  but  with  their  wings  spread 
open  they  shone  like  sparkling  jewels  in 
the  sunlight. 

Entwining,  interlacing  everything,  were 
myriads  of  roots  of  the  mandrake  trees ; 
they  look  like  strands  of  threads,  or  the 


The  Romance  of  a  Spaki.        223 

thousands  of  veins  in  the  trunk  of  an 
elephant,  and  cover  vast  areas  of  country. 

In  the  mud  with  the  alligators  were 
immense  shoals  of  crabs  perpetually  mov- 
ing their  white  ivory  claws  as  if  to  seize 
in  their  dreams  an  imaginary  prey. 

The  canoe  dividing  the  waters  of  the 
Diakhalleme  continued  its  sinuous  course 
down  the  river,  threading  its  way  quickly 
through  the  sombre  forests.  As  they 
neared  the  sea,  the  hills  and  tall  trees  of 
the  interior  disappeared,  and  they  soon 
reached  an  immense  flat  country  with  lit- 
tle verdure  of  any  kind  except  the  groves 
of  mandrakes,  through  which  ran  other 
water-courses.  The  consummate  skill  of 
Samba-Boubon  was  needed  to  thread  the 
way  through  this  labyrinth  of  rivers. 

The  cool  shadows  of  evening  began  to 
fall,  and  the  mournful  cadence  of  the 
voices  of  the  oarsmen,  or  the  plunge  of 
the  hippopotamus  as  it  floated  off,  leaving 


2  24  T^^  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

behind  it  great  whirling  eddies  on  the 
surface  of  the  warm,  dark  waters,  were  the 
only  sounds  to  break  the  mighty  silence. 

Fatou-gaye,  who  was  lying  at  the  bottom 

^of  the  canoe  for  greater  safety,  closed  her 

eyes  with  fear  and  trembling,  though  she 

was  already  doubly  protected  with  leaves 

and  moist  canvas  thrown  over  her  head. 

When  they  arrived  at  Pouponbal,  she 
had  accomplished  the  entire  journey  with- 
out daring  to  look  up  for  fear  of  seeing  a 
hippopotamus. 

Jean,  *in  order  to  arouse  her,  had  to 
swear  that  they  had  arrived  at  their 
destination,  and  the  danger  over,  con- 
sequently. 

She  was  quite  benumbed,  and  responded 
faintly,  entreating  Jean  to  take  her  in 
his  arms  and  carry  her  to  the  boat,  which 
he  did. 

Those  childish  ways  of  hers  succeeded 
very  well  with  Jean,    and   sometimes  he 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.  225 

allowed  himself  to  spoil  Fatou-gaye,  for 
he  needed  someone  to  cherish,  and  he 
bestowed  his  caresses  on  her  for  want  of 
a  better  object. 


16 


2  26         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XXVI. 

The  Governor  of  Goree  fulfilled  his 
promise  to  Pierre  Boyer,  and  Jean  was 
returned  to  Saint  Louis  to  finish  his  time 
of  exile. 

When  Jean  saw  once  more  the  white 
walls  of  the  old  city  he  experienced  a  deep 
emotion,  for  he  was  attached  to  it  as  one 
is  always  attached  to  a  place  where  one 
has  lived  for  a  long  time  and  suffered. 

Houses  were  not  much  in  demand  at 
Saint  Louis,  so  the  house  of  Samba-Hamet 
had  found  no  new  tenants. 

Coura-n'diaye  saw  Jean  and  Fatou  re- 
turning, and  opened  the  door  of  their  old 
lodgings,  and  things  soon  resumed  their 
former  course  of  monotony  and  gloom. 

Nothing  had  changed;  the  tame  storks 
that  inhabited  the  roof  clacked,  as  they 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         227 

basked  in  the  sunshine,  in  the  same 
wooden  voices,  like  the  grating  of  a  wind- 
mill, and  everywhere  there  were  the  same 
familiar  sounds. 

The  negresses  were  eternally  beating 
the  millet  for  \}i\&  Kouss-Kotiss ;  the  same 
quiet  and  tranquillity  existed  at  the  bar- 
racks— the  same  silent  monotony,  the 
same  overwhelmed  nature;  and  Jean  soon 
grew  weary  of  it  all. 

From  day  to  day  he  shunned  Fatou- 
gaye,  and  she  grew  more  and  more  wicked 
and  exacting;  especially  since  she  knew 
that  he  remained  on  her  account. 

There  were  frequent  scenes  between 
them.  Sometimes  he  was  exasperated 
beyond  endurance  with  her  malice  and 
perversity,  and  he  commenced  to  beat  her 
with  blows  from  his  whip;  not  very  hard 
at  first,  but  each  time  with  increased  vio- 
lence, and  sometimes  on  her  naked  back 
there  were  bloody  stripes,  and  then  he  was 


2  28  The  Romance  of  a  SpaJii. 

ashamed  of  himself,  and  resolved  never  to 
strike  her  again. 

One  day,  on  returning  to  the  house,  he 
saw  a  Khassouke — more  Hke  a  gorilla 
than  a  man — pass  hurriedly  under  the 
window.  He  did  not  mention  it  to  Fatou- 
gaye ;  it  was  a  matter  of  no  consequence 
to  him,  after  all,  what  she  did.  All  senti- 
ments of  tenderness  and  pity  which  he 
had  once  felt  for  her,  had  vanished.  He 
was  Mreary  of  her,  and  allowed  her  to  re- 
main because  he  was  too  indifferent  to 
force  her  to  go. 

The  last  year  of  his  exile  was  drawing 
to  a  close ;  he  began  to  count  by  months. 

Sleep,  which  at  best  comes  slowly  in 
that  enervating  country,  often  fled  from 
him,  and  he  passed  hours  of  the  night  lean- 
ing out  of  the  window,  dreaming  of  his 
return.  The  moon  in  her  course  across 
the  desert  always  found  him  there  at  the 
window.      He  loved  the  brilliant  nights; 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         229 

the  ruddy  splendor  of  the  moonbeams 
reflected  on  the  sands  and  on  the  bosom 
of  the  dark  river ;  even  the  sinister  cries 
of  the  jackals  on  the  plains  of  Sorr  had 
become  a  familiar  sound  to  him,  and  no 
longer  disturbed  him. 

And  when  he  thought  of  leaving  it  all 
forever,  for  a  moment  a  gloom  overcast 
his  joyful  anticipations. 


230  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XXVII. 

Jean  possessed  an  old  silver  watch, 
which  he  esteemed  as  highly  as  Fatou  did 
her  amulets  ;  it  was  his  old  father's  watch, 
which  he  had  given  him  on  his  departure 
for  Africa.  With  a  medal  he  wore  on  his 
breast,  suspended  by  a  chain  around  his 
neck,  he  held  it  the  most  precious  thing  in 
his  possession. 

The  medal  was  an  image  of  the  Virgin, 
and  was  placed  there  by  his  mother  once 
when  he  was  very  ill,  lonof  acjo  in  his  child- 
hood,  and  he  had  never  abandoned  it. 
He  was  lying  on  his  little  bed,  attacked 
by  some  malady  of  childhood,  and  on 
opening  his  eyes  from  a  deep  sleep  he  saw 
his  mother  near  him,  weeping.  It  was  a 
winter  afternoon,  and  through  the  window 
he  saw  the  snow  lying  on  the  mountains 
like  a  white  mantle. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         231 

His  mother  raised  his  head  gently  and 
passed  the  medal  around  his  neck;  then 
she  kissed  him,  and  he  fell  asleep  again. 

That  was  fifteen  years  ago,  and  the 
medal  still  remained  in  its  place. 

As  for  the  watch,  forty  years  had  passed 
since  it  was  purchased  by  his  father,  sec- 
ond hand,  with  his  first  savings  as  a  sol- 
dier. It  had  once  been  a  remarkable 
watch,  but  now  it  was  somewhat  out  of 
order;  it  was  big  and  bulging,  and  showed 
considerable  old  age. 

His  father,  however,  had  considered  it 
an  object  of  great  value,  for  watches  were 
not  common  among  the  mountaineers  of 
his  village. 

The  watchmaker  in  a  neighboring  town, 
who  repaired  it  for  Jean  just  before  his 
departure,  declared  the  movements  very 
remarkable,  and  his  old  father  confided  to 
him  the  companion  of  his  youth  with  all 
sorts  of  recommendations. 


232  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi, 

At  first  Jean  wore  it  proudly,  but  since 
he  had  been  in  the  regiment,  whenever  he 
looked  to  see  the  time  there  were  bursts 
of  laughter,  and  his  companions  made  so 
many  untimely  jokes  about  the  onion  that 
several  times  Jean  felt  his  face  flush  with 
anger  and  chagrin.  He  would  have  pre- 
ferred all  sorts  of  blows  and  injuries  to 
himself  rather  than  a  want  of  respect  for 
the  old  watch. 

It  pained  him  more  because  he  knew 
that  the  poor  old  watch  was  ridiculous, 
and  it  gave  him  an  inexpressible  pang  for 
his  comrades  to  make  fun  of  it,  especially 
since  he  found  it  so  droll  himself. 

Finally  he  ceased  to  carry  it  altogether, 
to  spare  himself  these  mortifications  ;  he 
did  not  even  wind  it  up,  so  as  not  to  wear 
it  out.  Since  the  shaking-up  it  had  on 
the  voyage,  and  under  the  influence  of  the 
warm  climate,  it  began  to  indicate  the 
wrong  hours ;  in  fact,  it  never  kept  the 
right  time. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.        233 

He  put  it  away  tenderly,  with  his  letters 
and  other  precious  articles,  in  a  box  in 
which  he  kept  the  souvenirs  of  his  native 
land. 

For  a  long  time  Fatou-gaye  refrained 
from  touching-  it,  though  it  interested  her 
greatly.  But  one  day  when  Jean  was  absent 
she  opened  the  precious  box,  and  taught 
herself  how  to  wind  the  watch.  When 
she  placed  it  to  her  ear  and  heard  the 
ticking,  her  antics  were  as  ludicrous  as  a 
monkey  with  a  music-box. 


234  The  Romance  of  a  SpaJii. 


XXVIII. 

Several  weeks  had  passed  since  Jean 
had  opened  his  box  of  treasures  to  look 
at  his  old  watch. 

One  day  when  he  was  on  duty  at  the 
barracks,  he  was  suddenly  seized  with  a 
presentiment.  He  returned  to  the  house, 
walking  rapidly,  and  on  his  arrival  he 
opened  the  box. 

He  felt  a  sudden  pang,  for  the  watch 
was  not  there  ! 

He  feverishly  turned  over  the  other 
articles  in  the  box,  but  the  watch  was 
gone. 

Fatou-gaye  sat  in  one  corner  of  the 
room,  humming  abstractedly.  She  was 
stringing  beads,  arranging  them  into 
different  designs  for  a  necklace,  prepara- 
tory for  the  grand  fete  next  day.      It  was 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         235 

the  bamboula  of  Tabaski,  at  which  she 
wished  to  appear  beautiful  and  finely 
dressed. 

"You  have  misplaced  it,"  said  Jean, 
turning  to  her  in  a  rage.  "And  I  told 
you  never  to  touch  it;  what  have  you 
done  with  it?     Answer  me  quickly." 

A  cold  perspiration  was  on  his  brow, 
and,  wild  with  fear  and  anxiety,  he  shook 
Fatou-gaye  rudely  by  the  arm. 

''Ram''  (I  do  not  know),  responded 
she,  with  exasperating  indifference  ;  and 
that  was  her  only  answer  to  his  excited 
interroofations. 

But  all  at  once  a  light  broke  upon  him  ; 
he  saw  her  new  clothes  of  most  gorgeous 
colors,  folded  carefully  and  concealed  in 
a  corner,  ready  for  to-morrow's  festivities. 
He  understood  then,  and  seizing  the  hol- 
iday garment,  he  unfolded  it  and  threw  it 
upon  the  floor. 

"  You  have  sold  the  watch  !"  cried  he, 


236         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

in  a  rage.  "  Tell  me  quickly,  Fatou-gaye, 
is  it  true  ?" 

She  threw  herself  on  her  knees  on  the 
floor,  and  he  took  down  his  whip. 

She  well  knew  that  in  stealing  the  pre- 
cious charm  she  had  committed  a  very 
grave  fault ;  but  she  possessed  both  impu- 
dence and  audacity,  for  she  had  already 
done  so  much,  and  Jean  had  always  par- 
doned her. 

But  she  had  never  seen  him  like  this. 
She  screamed  aloud  with  terror,  and 
threw  herself  at  his  feet,  crying  : 

"  Pardon,  T'Jean,  pardon  !" 

Jean  did  not  feel  her  influence  in  this 
moment  of  his  fury,  for  he  had  the  violent 
passions  of  a  savage  boy.  He  struck 
Fatou-gaye  harshly  upon  her  naked  back, 
markinor  it  with  streaks  of  blood,  and 
with  every  blow  his  rage  increased. 

Then  he  was  ashamed  at  what  he  had 
done,  and  throwing  the  whip  upon  the 
floor,  he  sank  down  upon  the  sofa. 


The  Romance  oj  a  Spa  hi.         237 


XXIX. 

A  moment  afterward,  Jean  went  run- 
ning to  the  market-place  at  Guet-n'dar. 

Fatou-gaye  had  confessed  all,  and  given 
the  name  of  the  black  merchant  to  whom 
she  had  sold  the  poor  old  watch.  He 
hoped  it  was  still  there,  so  that  he  might 
buy  it  back  again. 

He  had  just  drawn  his  monthly  pay, 
and  this  would  be  sufficient.  He  ran 
very  quickly,  that  he  might  arrive  before, 
some  black  purchaser  had  carried  it  off, 
for  then  it  would  be  lost  to  him  forever. 

Upon  the  sands  at  Guet-n'dar  there 
was  a  great  tumult,  a  confusion  of  all 
races,  a  Babel  of  all  the  languages  of  the 
Soudan. 

They  held  there  perpetually  a  grand 
market,  attended  by  people  from  all  coun- 


238         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

tries,  who  sold  everything — the  most 
trifling  of  articles,  and  the  most  precious. 

There  were  jewels,  cheap  and  costly  ; 
incongruous  things,  such  as  gold  and 
butter,  meat  and  ointments,  sheep  on  foot 
and  manuscripts,  captives  and  soup,  amu- 
lets and  cabbage. 

On  one  side  of  the  market-place,  mak- 
ing a  background  for  the  picturesque 
scene,  was  an  arm  of  the  river,  with  Saint 
Louis  in  the  distance ;  its  long,  straight 
streets,  old  white  houses,  and  Babylonian 
terraces  blending  their  lights  and  shad- 
ows under  the  lofty  palm  trees  that  lifted 
their  golden  tufts  against  the  deep  blue 
skies.  On  the  other  side  was  Guet-n'dar, 
the  negro  village,  with  its  thousands  and 
thousands  of  pointed  roofs. 

Near  by  were  stationed  caravans  ;  cam- 
els slept  on  the  ground,  and  Moors  un- 
packed their  bales  of  arachis  and  'leather 
fetich-bags.     Merchant  men  and   women 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.         239 

crouched  upon  the  sands,  elbowing  each 
other,  their  wares  almost  under  the  feet 
of  their  customers. 

There  were  merchants  of  sour  milk 
contained  in  goat-skins,  the  hair  turned 
inward ;  merchants  of  butter,  who  fish  out 
their  merchandise  with  their  fingers  from 
the  hairy  leather  bottles ;  they  also  offer 
for  sale  little  balls  of  salt,  which  they  roll  in 
their  hands,  aftei*ward  running  their  fin- 
gers through  their  hair  to  cleanse  them. 
These  merchants  are  of  the  Puehle  race, 
and  wear  enormous  chignons  ornamented 
with  copper. 

Then  there  were  merchants  of  simples, 
balls  of  charmed  herbs,  lizard  tails,  and 
magic  roots  ;  and  merchants  who  kneel 
on  the  sands  offering  for  sale  gold  dust, 
emeralds,  pearls,  and  amber ;  merchants 
of  pistachios,  live  ducks,  and  dead  eat- 
ables, provisions  dried  in  the  sun,  and 
sugar  pates  covered  with  flies. 


240  The  Romance  of  a  Spain. 

There  were  merchants  of  salt  fish,  of 
pipes,  of  ancient  jewelry — of  everything. 
And  among  their  wares  were  old  clothes, 
butter  of  Gallam  for  curling  the  hair, 
tresses  cut  or  torn  from  the  heads  of  dead 
negresses,  trinkets,  amulets,  old  guns,  old 
Korans,  musk,  flutes,  silver  -  handled 
poignards,  gongs,  horns  of  giraffes,  and 
old  guitars. 

Seated  under  the  yellow  cocoa  trees 
were  beggars  covered  with  vermin,  lepers 
holding  out  their  hands,  eaten  with  white 
ulcers,  demanding  alms,  and  lean  old 
women,  almost  skeletons,  with  swollen, 
deformed  limbs,  in  the  midst  of  debris  of 
all  kinds. 

And  upon  it  all  the  perpendicular  rays 
of  the  sun  beat  down  with  a  heat  as  burn- 
ing and  intense  as  that  of  a  fiery  furnace, 
and  always — always  for  a  horizon— the 
desert,  the  infinite  breadth  of  sands. 

Jean  stopped  before  the  stall  of  a  cer- 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         241 

tain  Bou-Bakary-Diam,  and  regarded  with 
anxious  eyes  and  a  beating  heart  the 
heterogeneous  mass  of  things  spread  out 
before  him. 

"O,  yes,  white  man,"  said  Bou-Bakary- 
Diam,  in  the  Jaloff  tongue.  "  You  mean 
the  watch  that  talks.  At  four  o'clock 
the  young  girl  came  to  sell  it  to  me  for 
three  Khaliss  of  silver,  and  as  it  talked, 
I  sold  it  very  readily  that  same  day  to  a 
chief  of  Trarzas,  who  has  gone  with  a 
caravan  to  Timbuctoo." 

And  so  it  was  all  over;  it  was  lost  to 
him  forever,  the  poor  old  watch  !  Poor 
Jean  was  as  broken-hearted  as  if  he  had 
lost  a  beloved  friend  through  some  fault 
of  his  own.  If  he  could  only  have  gone 
and  embraced  his  old  father  and  asked 
his  pardon,  that  would  have  brought  some 
consolation.  Or  if  it  had  fallen  into  the 
sea  or  river ;  or  if  he  had  lost  it  on  the 
desert;  but  to  have  it  sold,  profaned  by 
that  Fatou-gaye  ! 

16 


242  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

That  Fatou-gaye,  who  for  two  years 
had  taken  from  him  his  savings,  his  dig- 
nity, his  Hfe  !  To  protect  her  he  had  re- 
mained in  Africa  ;  for  her  he  had  forfeited 
his  future  as  a  soldier — for  that  black 
creature,  covered  with  her  hateful  amu- 
lets. And  as  he  thought  of  her  wicked 
ways,  her  impudence,  her  audacity,  he 
was  filled  with  an  ungovernable  rage. 

He  left  the  market-place  and  walked 
rapidly  toward  the  house  ;  his  blood  was 
boiling  and  his  brain  on  fire. 


The  Rovtance  of  a  Spahi.        243 


XXX. 

Fatou-gaye  awaited  his  return  with 
great  anxiety.  As  soon  as  he  entered  the 
door  she  saw  that  he  had  not  found  the 
old  watch,  and  his  manner  was  so  threat- 
ening that  she  thought  he  was  going  to 
kill  her.  She  realized  what  she  had  done, 
for  she  knew  that  if  anyone  had  taken 
from  her  a  certain  cherished  amulet,  the 
most  precious  one  in  her  possession,  given 
to  her  by  her  mother  long  ago  in  the  land 
of  Gallam,  she  would  have  thrown  herself 
upon  the  robber  and  torn  him  to  pieces. 

She  understood  that  she  had  done  some- 
thing terrible,  influenced  by  wicked  spirits 
and  her  great  love  for  fine  clothes  ;  she 
knew  that  she  had  brought  a  great  sorrow 
to  Jean,  and  she  longed  to  fall  at  his  feet 
and  embrace  him.     She  almost  hoped  he 


244  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

would  beat  her  again,  that  she  might 
touch  him  ;  for  she  felt  that  she  could  die 
happy  pressed  close  to  him,  begging  for 
mercy.  And  now  that  he  was  going  to 
kill  her,  she  had  nothing  to  risk  ;  she 
would  put  her  arm  around  him,  cling  to 
him,  reach  his  lips. 

If  Jean  could  have  read  what  was  pass- 
ing in  her  little  black  heart,  he  would  have 
forgiven  her,  for  it  was  not  difficult  to 
move  him  ;  but  Fatou-gaye  did  not  speak  ; 
she  thouofht  it  was  useless.  The  idea  of 
that  last  struggle,  in  which  she  would  cling 
to  him,  kiss  him,  die  for  him,  pleased  her; 
and  she  waited,  fixing  upon  him  her  great 
dark  eyes,  full  of  passion  and  terror. 

But  Jean  said  nothing  to  her  ;  he  did 
not  even  look  at  her,  and  he  threw  down 
the  whip  as  he  entered,  for  he  was  ashamed 
of  his  former  brutality  to  the  little  creat- 
ure, and  did  not  wish  to  strike  her  again. 
Then  he  began  to  tear  down  the  amulets 


The  Roma7ue  of  a  Spahi.         245 

from  the  walls  and  threw  them  out  the 
window;  and  he  took  her  clothes,  her 
trinkets,  her  gourds,  and  without  saying  a 
word,  dashed  them  out  on  the  sands. 

It  began  to  dawn  on  poor  Fatou-gaye 
what  awaited  her ;  she  divined  that  all 
was  over ;  she  was  to  be  driven  away, 
ruined. 

When  all  her  possessions  had  been 
thrown  out  of  the  window,  scattered  upon 
the  square  below,  Jean  pointed  to  the 
door,  saying  simply,  in  a  deep,  stern 
voice,    "Go!" 

And  Fatou-gaye,  with  her  head  bowed 
low,  went  out,  not  opening  her  lips. 

She  had  never  imagined  anything  so 
horrible  as  being  driven  away  from  him 
like  that;  she  could  not  shed  a  tear  or 
utter  a  lamentation;  she  felt  that  her 
heart  was  breaking. 


246         The  Roma7ice  of  a  Spahi. 


XXXI. 

Then  Jean  began  calmly  to  collect  his 
possessions,  and  he  packed  them  carefully, 
a  habit  acquired  at  the  barracks  in  spite 
of  himself ;  but  he  hastened,  also,  for  fear 
of  being  overcome  with  regrets. 

He  felt  somewhat  consoled  by  what  he 
had  just  done,  regarding  it  as  a  tribute 
paid  to  the  memory  of  the  old  watch. 
He  was  happy  at  having  at  last  had  the 
courage  to  send  Fatou-gaye  away,  and  he 
said  to  himself  he  would  soon  see  his  old 
father,  and,  confessing  it  all,  would  obtain 
his  pardon. 

When  he  had  finished,  he  descended  to 
the  apartment  of  Coura-n'diaye.  Fatou- 
gaye  had  fled  there  ;  he  saw  her  crouching 
silently  in  one  corner  of  the  room.  The 
little  slaves  had  collected  her  things  from 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         247 

the  street  and  put  them  in  gourds  near 
her.  He  did  not  speak  to  her,  but  ap- 
proached Coura-n'diaye  and  paid  her  his 
monthly  rent,  anticipating  that  he  would 
never  return  ;  and  throwing  his  light  bag- 
gage over  his  shoulder,  he  departed. 

Poor  old  watch  !  His  father  had  said 
to  him  :  "Jean,  it  is  a  little  old,  but  still 
it  is  a  very  good  watch  ;  they  don't  make 
as  good  nowadays.  When  you  are  rich, 
in  the  future,  you  can  buy  a  fashionable 
one  if  you  wish ;  then  return  this  one  to 
me.  I  have  worn  it  forty  years,  and  when 
they  bury  me,  if  you  have  no  further  use 
for  it,  put  it  with  me  in  the  coffin  ;  it  will 
keep  me  company  then." 

Coura-n'diaye  took  the  money  from  the 
spahi  without  making  any  comment  on  his 
abrupt  departure. 

When  Jean  was  out  of  doors  he  called 
his  wolf-dog,  who  followed  him  with  his 
ears  hanging  down,  as  if  he  understood 
the  situation  and  was  sorry  to  depart. 


248  The  Romance  of  a  Spain. 

Then  Jean  went  away  without  turning 
his  head,  walking  rapidly  through  the 
lonely  streets  of  the  dead  city. 


PART  III. 
I. 

When  Jean  had  thus  definitely  expelled 
Fatou-gaye,  and  was  comfortably  installed 
at  the  barracks  with  his  modest  posses- 
sions brought  from  the  house  of  Samba- 
Hamet,  he  felt  really  light-hearted,  for  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  was  now  making 
some  progress  toward  the  blissful  time 
when  he  would  bid  an  eternal  farewell  to 
Africa.  Nevertheless,  he  had  in  his  heart 
some  pity  for  her,  and  desired  to  send 
her  a  little  money  to  facilitate  her  ar- 
rangements in  other  quarters. 

Not  wishing  to  see  her,  he  charged 
Muller  with  the  commission. 

Muller  went  to  the  lodgings  of  Coura- 
n'diaye,  but  Fatou-gaye  had  departed. 
She   had    suffered    much   grief,  said   the 

(249) 


250  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

little  slaves  in  the  Jaloff  tongue,  as  they 
gathered  around  him,  all  speaking  at  the 
same  time. 

In  the  eveninor  she  refused  to  e*at  the 
Kouss-Kouss  which  they  offered  her. 

"  That  night,"  said  the  little  Sam-Lele, 
"  I  heard  her  talk  in  her  sleep,  but  I 
could  not  understand  what  she  said,  and 
then  the  wolves  howled,  which  is  a  bad 
sign."  . 

She  went  away  before  sunrise,  bearing 
her  gourds  upon  her  head. 

Bafou-fale-Diop,  the  head  woman  of 
the  slaves  of  Coura-n'diaye,  a  person  of  a 
very  prying  nature,  followed  her  some 
distance,  and  saw  her  cross  the  wooden 
bridge  over  a  narrow  arm  of  the  river, 
walking  in  the  direction  of  N'dar-toute, 
apparently  knowing  quite  well  where  she 
was  going. 

They  conjectured  she  had  gone  to  seek 
the  protection  of  a  rich  old  Mahometan 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         251 

priest  who  lived  at  N'dar-toute,  who 
greatly  admired  her  beauty ;  she  was 
pretty  —  indisputably  so  —  although  a 
Kafir. 

For  a  long  time  Jean  avoided  passing 
by  the  old  white  house,  but  after  awhile 
he  ceased  to  care  anything  about  it. 

And  since  he  had  recovered  from  that 
intoxicating  fever  of  the  senses,  excited 
by  the  climate  of  Africa,  and  resumed 
the  dignity  of  a  white  man,  sullied  so  long 
by  his  life  with  Fatou-gaye,  he  looked 
back  upon  it  all  with  a  shudder  of  pro- 
found disgust,  and  resolved  to  lead  an 
entirely  new  life  of  honesty  and  morality. 

In  the  future  he  would  live  at  the  bar- 
racks like  a  prudent  man,  and  save  his 
money  to  purchase  for  Jeanne  Mery  a 
number  of  souvenirs  of  the  Senegal.  He 
would  take  her,  among  other  things,  some 
of  those  beautiful  mats  and  embroidered 
cloths,  to  adorn  their  little  cottage ;  they 


252  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

would  be  the  wonder  and  admiration  of 
all  the  people  of  the  village.  And  he  par- 
ticularly wished  to  present  to  her  a  pair  of 
ear-rings  and  a  cross  of  the  fine  gold  of 
Gallam,  which  he  had  already  ordered  to 
be  made  by  one  of  the  best  black  artists 
in  that  country.  She  would  wear  them  to 
church  on  Sundays,  and  certainly  there 
would  be  no  other  young  woman  in  the 
village  with  such  fine  jewels. 

And  so  this  poor  spahi,  with  such  a 
grand,  grave  air,  formed  in  his  young 
head  a  number  of  childish  projects,  inno- 
cent dreams  of  happiness,  of  domestic 
life  and  peaceful  honesty. 

Jean  was  now  nearly  twenty-six  years 
old,  but  he  looked  much  older,  which  is 
often  the  case  with  those  who  have  led 
rough  lives  upon  the  sea  or  in  the  army. 
These  five  years  on  the  Senegal  had 
changed  him  greatly;  his  features  were 
more    accentuated,    thinner,    and    much 


The  Roma7ice  of  a  Spahi.         253 

bronzed  by  contact  with  the  burning  rays 
of  the  sun.  He  had  acquired  a  military 
air;  his  chest  had  expanded  and  shoulders 
broadened,  but  his  figure  was  still  supple 
and  slender. 

This  air  of  distinction  and  his  manly 
beauty  inspired  with  involuntary  respect 
and  admiration  all  who  approached  him, 
A  painter  would  have  chosen  him  as  a 
noble  type  of  manly  perfection. 


254         T^^^^  Romance  of  a  Spaki. 


II. 

One  day  Jean  found  two  letters  in- 
closed in  an  envelope  bearing  the  post- 
mark of  his  native  village  ;  one  was  from 
his  mother,  the  other  from  Jeanne  Mery. 

LETTER  OF  FRANCOISE  PEYRAL  TO  HER  SON. 

My  Dear  Son:  Something  strange  has  hap- 
pened since  my  last  letter,  which  will  astonish  you 
greatly.  But  do  not  grieve  about  it;  only  pray  to 
the  good  God  as  we  do,  and  keep  a  brave  heart. 
I  will  begin  by  telling  you  that  there  has  come  to 
this  country  a  young  bailiff,  M.  Prosper  Suirot. 
He  is  very  unpopular  here,  as  he  is  so  hard  on  the 
poor  people,  and  very  sullen  in  his  manner;  but 
that  he  has  a  good  position,  no  one  can  deny. 

This  M.  Suirot  has  demanded  in  marriage  the 
hand  of  Jeanne  Mery,  and  your  uncle  Mery  is 
willing  to  accept  him  as  a  son-in-law.  Mery 
came  here  one  evening  recently,  and  made  quite  a 
scene.  It  seems  that  he  has  been  making  inquiries 
about  you  from  your  officers  without  our  knowl- 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.         255 

edge,  and  they  have  given  him  some  information 
very  detrimental  to  you.  They  say  you  have  a 
black  wife  there,  and  that  you  live  with  her  against 
the  wishes  of  your  superiors,  which  is  the  reason 
you  have  not  been  promoted.  There  are  bad 
rumors  afloat  about  you,  my  son,  many  things  that 
I  could  never  believe;  but  your  uncle  showed  us 
a  paper  upon  which  we  could  see  the  seals  of 
)'0ur  regiment.  Now  Jeanne  has  come  over  to  our 
house  in  tears,  vowing  that  she  will  never  marry 
Suirot,  and  that  she  will  always  remain  faithful  to 
you.  She  will  enter  a  convent  if  they  press  her  too 
closely,  she  declares.  She  writes  you  the  inclosed 
letter,  and  tells  you  what  you  must  do;  she  is  an 
intelligent  girl,  so  take  her  advice  and  write  im- 
mediately to  your  uncle  as  she  tells  you.  You  will 
return  to  us  in  a  few  months,  and  with  good  con- 
duct until  then,  and  reliance  on  God,' no  doubt  all 
may  be  arranged  yet.  We  are  much  grieved,  as 
you  must  know,  and  are  afraid  your  uncle  M6ry 
will  forbid  Jeanne  to  visit  our  house,  and  that 
would  make  us  very  unhappy. 

Peyral   joins  me  in  embracing  you,  and    prays 
you  to  write  to  us  immediately. 

Your  old  mother,  who  adores  you, 

Fran'coise  Pevral. 


256         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

JEANNE    MERY    TO    HER    COUSIN    JEAJM. 

My  Dear  Jean:  I  am  so  unhappy  that  I  almost 
wish  to  die.  I  regret  that  you  have  not  returned, 
and  do  not  even  speak  of  it,  especially  since  my 
parents,  agreeing  with  my  godfather,  wish  me  to 
marry  Suirot,  of  whom  I  have  already  written  to 
you.  They  are  continually  telling  me  that  he  is 
rich,  and  that  I  ought  to  feel  honored  that  he  has 
requested  me  to  marry  him.  I  continue  to  say  no, 
and  to  weep,  I  am  so  unhappy,  my  dear  Jean,  at 
having  them  all  against  me.  Olivette  and  Rose 
laugh  at  me  for  always  having  red  eyes;  I  believe 
they  would  willingly  marry  Suirot  if  he  only  de- 
sired it.  At  the  thought  of  it,  I  shudder  with 
horror,  and  I  will  fly  to  a  convent  if  they  press  me 
too  closely.  If  I  might  only  go  to  your  home 
sometimes  to  speak  to  your  mother,  for  I  have  as 
much  affection  for  her  as  if  I  were  her  own  daugh- 
ter; but  they  open  their  eyes  when  I  go  there  so 
often,  and  soon  they  may  forbid  it  altogether.  My 
dear  Jean,  it  is  necessary  for  you  to  do  all  that  1 
am  about  to  tell  you. 

I  understand  there  are  some  bad  rumors  about 
you,  but  I  content  myself  by  believing  they  are 
circulated  to  influence  me,  so  they  do  not  trouble 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.         257 

me.  Tliey  can  not  possibly  be  true,  for  no  one 
knows  you  so  well  as  I  do.  Still,  I  would  be  glad 
if  you  would  explain  some  things  to' me;  you  know 
it  is  always  pleasant  to  be  assured  that  what  one 
believes  is  true.  Then  write  immediately  to  my 
father,  and  demand  my  hand  in  marriage,  prom- 
ising to  conduct  yourself  as  a  well-regulated, 
prudent  man,  against  whom  no  one  can  whisper 
an  unkind  word.  After  that,  I  will  beg  him  upon 
my  knees.  May  the  good  God  have  mercy  upon 
my  dear  Jean. 

Your  betrothed  for  life, 

Jeanne  M^ry. 

To  those  who  hve  in  obscure  villages 
the  vocabulary  of  passion  is  unknown  ; 
they  only  know  how  to  translate  their 
feelings  into  simple,  tranquil  phrases. 
Jeanne  must  have  been  deeply  moved  in 
writing  this  letter  to  Jean;  but  he  also 
spoke  that  simple  language,  and  under- 
stood all  she  wrote  of  her  love  and  reso- 
lutions. His  reply  to  her  was  full  of  ten- 
derness and  gratitude.     He  also  addressed 

17 


258         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

a  letter  to  his  uncle  Mery,  a  formal  re- 
quest, accompanied  with  sincere  pledges 
of  prudence  and  good  conduct,  and  then 
he  awaited  with  much  anxiety  the  return 
of  the  mail  from  France. 

M.  Prosper  Suirot  was  a  young  bailiff, 
stiff  and  pompous ;  and  a  fierce  free- 
thinker, having  imbibed  all  of  the  atheistic 
nonsense  of  the  age.  He  was  very  near- 
sighted, his  small,  red  eyes  peering  through 
smoky  spectacles,  which  would  have  ex- 
cited the  contempt  of  Jean,  who  always 
felt  an  instinctive  repulsion  for  persons 
badly  formed  and  ugly. 

Influenced  by  the  dowry  and  beautiful 
figure  of  Jeanne  Mery,  the  little  bailiff 
believed,  in  his  puffed-up  vanity,  that  he 
was  greatly  honoring  the  young  peasant 
girl  by  offering  her  his  ugly  person  and 
high  social  position.  He  intended  after 
their  marriage  to  place  her  high  in  society, 
and  that  Jeanne  should  become  a  fine  lady. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi,         259 


III. 

Several  months  passed,  but  the  mail 
from  France  brought  no  letter  for  Jean. 

In  the  letters  from  his  mother  Jeanne 
had  always  sent  some  message  of  love  and 
fidelity.  His  uncle  Mery  might  remain 
inflexible,  but  so  would  Jeanne;  so  he  was 
full  of  hope,  not  doubting  but  that  all 
would  be  satisfactorily  arranged  on  his 
return  to  the  village. 

He  indulged  more  than  ever  in  delicious 
dreams.  After  nearly  six  years  of  exile, 
this  return  to  his  native  village  appeared 
to  him  in  the  most  glowing  colors,  and  all 
his  dreams  were  radiant  witli  rosy  antici- 
pations. To  arrive  in  the  gay  uniform  of 
a  spahi  in  the  village  diligence,  to  see  the 
Cevennes  reappearing  with  their  familiar 
lights  and  shadows,  the  well-known  paths, 


26o  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

the  beloved  steeple,  the  paternal  roof  by 
the  wayside — and  then  to  clasp  in  his 
arms  in  ecstasy  his  old  parents! 

They  would  go  together  to  the  Merys  ; 
the  young  girls,  all  the  good  people  of  the 
village  would  run  to  the  doors  and  win- 
dows to  see  them  pass.  He  would  appear 
very  grand  to  them  in  his  red  clothes  and 
his  military  air.  His  uncle  Mery  would 
see  the  golden  lace  of  a  quarter-master 
(which  he  intended  to  win)  shining  on  his 
sleeve,  and  the  effect  would  be  irresisti- 
ble. After  all,  his  uncle  Mery  was  a 
good  man  and  had  loved  him,  though  he 
had  grumbled  about  his  conduct  formerly. 

Far  away  in  exile,  one  always  sees  those 
who  remain  at  home  in  the  most  favorable 
light;  they  are  always  good  and  affection- 
ate ;  only  their  defects  are  forgotten. 

Jean  was  confident  his  uncle  would  not 
remain  obdurate  when  he  saw  his  two 
children    supplicating    at    his    feet.      He 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         261 

would  certainly  relent ;  he  would  place 
Jeanne's  hand  in  his  own,  and  then  what 
happiness,  what  a  sweet  and  beautiful  life, 
what  a  paradise  on  earth  ! 

Jean  never  pictured  himself  dressed 
like  the  men  of  his  village,  wearing  the 
modest  hat  of  a  mountaineer  ;  he  never 
allowed  his  thoughts  to  dwell  on  this 
subject.  In  his  red  uniform,  under  the 
sun  of  Africa,  he  had  really  begun  to 
live,  and  had  grown  to  be  a  man.  And 
he  loved  it  all — his  Arabian  fez,  his  sabre, 
his  horse,  and  that  great,  God-forsaken 
country — the  desert. 

He  knew  not  how  often  delusions  van- 
ished and  ideals  were  wrecked  for  poor 
sailors  and  soldiers  when  they  return  to 
the  long-dreamed-of  village  which  they 
had  left  in  their  youth,  and  which,  when 
far  away,  they  had  only  seen  through  the 
enchanted  prisms  of  sweet  memory. 

Alas !    what   sadness,  what   weariness, 


262  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

often    follow    these   poor  exiles    to  their 
own  country  ! 

Young  men  like  Jean,  acclimated,  ener- 
vated in  the  land  of  Africa,  have  often 
wept  for  the  desolate  banks  of  the  Sen- 
egal, the  long  rides  on  horseback,  the  free 
life,  the  burning  sun,  and  the  limitless 
horizon,  for  all  of  this  is  wanting  else- 
where ;  arid  when  it  no  longer  exists,  in 
the  tranquillity  of  home,  they  feel  the 
need  of  the  devouring  sun,  they  sigh  for 
the  desert,  and  are  homesick  for  the  end- 
less sands. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         263 


IV. 

In  the  meintime,  Boubakar-Se^ou,  a 
powerful  black  king,  was  playing  his 
pranks  in  Diambour  and  the  country  of 
Djiagabar. 

An  expedition  of  war  was  in  the  wind  ; 
it  was  whispered  in  official  circles  at  Saint 
Louis,  and  commented  upon  and  discus- 
sed in  a  thousand  ways  by  the  spahis, 
marksmen,  and  the  infantry  troops  of  the 
marines.  It  was  noised  abroad,  and  each 
one  expected  to  win  his  promotion — a 
medal  or  a  grave. 

Jean  was  about  to  finish  his  service,  and 
he  was  anxious  to  regain  all  he  had  lost 
by  his  past  misconduct.  He  had  dreams 
of  wearing  in  his  button-hole,  on  the  yel- 
•  low  ribbon  of  the  brave,  the  military 
medal.      He  wished,  in  bidding  an  eternal 


264  The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi. 

farewell  to  Africa,  to  do  some  act  of  valor 
that  would  make  his  name  remembered 
at  the  barracks  of  the  spahis  in  that  cor- 
ner of  the  world  where  he  had  lived  and 
suffered  so  long. 

Between  the  barracks,  the  officers  of 
the  marines,  and  the  Government  officials 
a  rapid  exchange  of  correspondence  took 
place ;  and  there  arrived  at  the  quarters 
large  sealed  envelopes  that  greatly  excited 
the  curiosity  of  the  spahis. 

A  long,  serious  expedition  was  pre- 
dicted. 

The  spahis  sharpened  and  polished  their 
great  sabres,  refilled  their  powder-flasks, 
and  drank  absinthe  with  gay  words,  bra- 
vados, and  joyous  anticipations. 

One  day  about  the  first  of  October, 
Jean  was  sent  to  the  palace  of  the  Gov- 
ernment to  carry  an  important  document. 

As  he  hastened  along  the  long  straight 
street,  which  was  as  empty  and  as  dead  as 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.  265 

a  street  of  Thebes  or  Memphis,  he  saw  a 
spahi  approaching  him,  bearing  in  his  hand 
a  letter. 

It  was  Sergeant  MuUer,  who  was  dis- 
tributing among  the  spahis  the  mail  from 
France,  which  had  arrived  but  an  hour 
ago  with  a  caravan  from  Dakar. 

"  This  is  for  you,  Peyral,"  he  said,  as 
he  extended  to  him  a  letter  bearing  the 
postmark  of  his  native  village. 

The  letter  which  Jean  had  been  expect- 
ing for  a  month  burned  his  hand,  and  he 
hesitated  to  open  it,  finally  resolving  to 
finish  his  mission  before  reading  it. 

At  last  he  arrived  at  the  railings  of  the 
Government  house  ;  the  gate  was  open, 
and  he  entered. 

In  the  garden  there  was  the  same  lack 
of  animation  he  had  observed  in  the 
street.  A  great  tame  lioness  lay  extended 
on  the  sands  ;  ostriches  slept  on  the 
ground,  under  the  stately    blue  aloes,  in 


266  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

the  cool  gray  shadows.  It  was  mid- 
day ;  no  one  was  in  sight;  silence  reigned, 
the  silence  of  a  necropolis.  The  shadows 
of  the  yellow  palm  trees  fell  on  the  great 
white  terraces  and  relieved  the  glare  of  the 
burning  sun. 

Jean  hastened  in  search  of  someone  to 
whom  he  might  deliver  the  document. 
He  at  last  arrived  at  a  bureau  where  he 
found  the  Governor  surrounded  by  the 
different  heads  of  the  colonial  service, 
deeply  engaged  in  discussing  weighty 
matters. 

In  exchange  for  the  document  which 
Jean  brought  they  gave  him  another, 
addressed  to  the  commandant  of  the 
spahis. 

It  was  a  definite  order  to  march,  and 
that  afternoon  it  was  communicated  offi- 
cially to  all  the  troops  at  Saint  Louis. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.        267 


V. 

When  Jean  found  himself  once  more 
in  the  solitary  street  he  opened  the  letter, 
trembling  with  a  vague  fear. 

He  found  only  the  handwriting  of  his 
old  mother.  The  penmanship  was  more 
irregular  than  ever,  and  it  was  stained 
with  tears. 

He  eagerly  devoured  the  contents;  it 
bewildered  him,  and  he  leaned  against  a 
wall  for  support. 

All  was  over !  They  had  taken  away 
from  him  his  betrothed,  whom  his  old 
parents  had  chosen  for  him — the  sweet- 
heart of  his  boyhood  : 

The  bans  are  published;  the  marriage  will  take 
place  in  a  month,  I  do  not  doubt  it  now. 
Jeanne  never  comes  to  see  us.  I  would  not 
write  it  to  you  sooner,  my  dear  son,  so  as  not  to 
trouble  you  when  you  could  do  nothing.     We  are 


268  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

in  great  despair.  Yesterday,  Peyral  had  a  presenti- 
ment that  terrified  us.  It  was  that  you  would 
never  return  from  Africa.  We  are  both  old,  my 
dear  Jean,  and  I  beg  you  on  my  knees  not  to  allow 
this  news  to  keep  you  from  being  prudent,  and 
that  you  will  come  home  as  soon  as  you  expected. 
If  you  disappoint  us,  I  would  rather  die  at  once, 
and  so  would  Peyral. 

His  brain  was  full  of  incoherent  and 
tumultuous  thoughts.  He  made  a  rapid 
calculation  of  dates — no,  it  was  not  over 
yet.  He  would  telegraph  !  But  why  did 
he  dream  of  such  a  thing;  there  was  no 
telegraphic  connection  between  France 
and  the  land  of  the  Senegal — and  what 
more  could  he  have  told  them  than  he 
had  already  written? 

O,  that  he  might  sail  on  some  vessel 
at  that  moment,  leaving  all  behind  him  ! 
That  he  might  arrive  in  time  to  throw 
himself  at  their  feet  with  tears  and  suppli- 
cations ;  he  might  be  able  to  soften  their 
hearts. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.         269 

What  impossibilities,  what  impotency  ! 
All  would  be  consummated  ere  he  could 
reach  them  to  utter  one  cry  of  grief. 

He  felt  that  around  his  head  there 
were  bands  of  iron,  and  his  whole  body 
seemed  to  be  undergoing  some  terrible 
pressure. 

He  suddenly  remembered  that  the  doc- 
ument consigned  to  him  by  the  Governor 
was  an  important  one;  so,  piously  kissing 
the  name  of  old  Francoise,  he  folded  the 
letter  and  staggered  along  like  a  drunken 
man. 

Around  him  all  was  asleep  in  the  great 
calm  of  mid-day.  The  ancient  Moorish 
houses  shone  milk-white  against  the  in- 
tense blue  of  the  skies.  Now  and  then 
there  floated  from  behind  the  brick  walls 
the  plaintive  song  of  a  negress.  Little 
negroes  adorned  with  necklaces  of  coral 
slept  on  the  door-steps,  their  faces  up- 
turned to  the  blazing  sun — dark  spots  in 
bold  relief  in  that  uniformity  of  light. 


270  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

Lizards  glided  across  the  smooth  sands 
of  the  streets,  tracing  thereon  zigzags  as 
fantastic  and  complicated  as  Arabian 
characters ;  and  in  the  distance  could  be 
heard  the  noise  of  the  pestle  beating  the 
Kouss-Kouss,  a  sound  so  regular  and  mo- 
notonous that  it  made  a  kind  of  silence, 
dying  away  in  the  heavy  strata  of  the 
noonday  atmosphere. 

This  tranquillity  of  overwhelmed  na- 
ture seemed  to  exult  over  him,  and  had 
the  effect  of  intensifying  his  grief.  It 
depressed  him  as  some  physical  suffering; 
it  suffocated  him  as  a  winding-sheet  of 
lead  ;  all  at  once  the  whole  country  im- 
pressed him  as  a  vast  tomb. 

He  awoke  from  his  deep  sleep  of  five 
years,  and  there  rose  in  his  heart  a  great 
revolt  against  all  things  in  the  world. 

Why  had  they  taken  him  from  his  vil- 
lage, from  his  mother,  to  bury  him,  at  the 
most  beautiful  time  of  his  life,  in  this 
country  of  death ! 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         ?.ji 

What  right  had  they  to  make  him  a 
spahi — half  African — unhappy  classifica- 
tion !  A  vagabond  of  the  sword,  forgot- 
ten by  all,  and  now,  his  crown  of  sorrows, 
renounced  by  his  betrothed  ! 

He  was  filled  with  a  terrible  rage ;  he 
felt  a  desire  to  torture,  to  strangle,  to 
crush  someone  in  his  powerful  arms. 
He  could  not  weep,  though  he  felt  that 
in  that  whole  country  he  had  not  a  friend, 
not  a  heart  comrade  to  whom  he  might 
recount  his  sorrows.  He  was  all  alone, 
amid  the  heat,  the  sands,  and  the  mighty 
silence. 


2/2  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


VI.      - 

Jean  ran  on  to  the  barracks,  and  threw 
to  the  first  man  he  saw  the  papers  that 
had  been  entrusted  to  him  ;  then  he  rushed 
into  the  open  air  and  began  to  walk 
swiftly  and  aimlessly — his  way  of  stifling 
grief. 

He  crossed  the  bridge  at  Guet-n'dar 
and  turned  southward  toward  the  point 
of  Barbary  ;  as  on  that  momentous  night, 
four  years  before,  when  he  had  fled  in 
anguish  from  the  house  of  Cora. 

But  this  time  he  was  suffering  the  pro- 
found and  deep  despair  of  a  man  whose 
life  was  ruined. 

For  several  hours  he  walked  toward 
the  south,  losing  sight  of  Saint  Louis  and 
the  thatched  roofs  of  the  negro  villages, 
and    finally,  heart-sick   and   foot-sore,  he 


The  Romaiice  of  a  Spain.         273 

sank  down  at  the  foot  of  a  sand-liill  that 
commanded  a  view  of  the  sea. 

He  was  confused  and  dazed  by  the 
burning  heat  of  the  sun,  and  as  he  gazed 
distractedly  around  him  he  discovered 
that  he  had  never  been  on  this  spot  be- 
fore. The  hill  was  bristling  with  strange 
tombstones,  bearing  inscriptions  in  the 
language  of  Maghreb,  and  bones  that  long 
ago  had  been  unearthed  by  the  jackals 
lay  bleaching  in  the  sun. 

The  absolute  aridity  of  the  surround- 
ing country  was  here  and  there  relieved 
by  a  few  signs  of  verdure.  Fresh,  green 
garlands  of  rope-weed  crept  in  and  out 
of  decayed  skulls  and  entwined  around 
the  crumbling  bones  of  arms  and  legs, 
now  and  then  blossoming  into  clusters  of 
brilliant  scarlet  flowers. 

Near  by,  other  funeral  hills  rose  out  of 
the  smooth  plains  with  lugubrious  aspects, 
and   on  the  sea-shore  were  great   flocks 

18 


2  74         ^^^  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

of  pelicans  of  a  pinkish-white  color  that 
assumed  singular  forms  and  uncouth  di- 
mensions in  the  twilight  mirage. 

The  sun  dipped  into  the  ocean  ;  a  fresh 
breeze  rose;  Jean  commenced  to  read  his 
mother's  letter  once  again  : 

Yesterday,  my  dear  son,  Peyral  had  a  presenti- 
ment which  greatly  terrified  us;  it  was  that  you 
would  never  return  from  Africa.  We  are  both  old, 
and  your  poor  mother  begs  you  on  her  knees  not 
to  allow  this  news  to  keep  you  from  being  pru- 
dent, and  that  you  will  come  home  as  soon  as 
you  had  expected.  If  you  do  not,  I  would  rather 
die  at  once,  and  so  would  Peyral. 

Jean  became  convulsed  with  sobs;  he 
felt  that  his  heart  was  broken,  and  all  his 
rebellious  nature  was  spent  in  tears. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spaki.         2  75 


VII. 

Two  days  after  this,  all  the  marine 
boats  that  were  needed  for  the  expedition 
were  grouped  in  the  bend  of  the  river 
near  Pop-n'kior,  north  of  Saint  Louis. 

The  embarkment  of  the  troops  took 
place  in  sight  of  a  vast  concourse  of  peo- 
ple. The  wives  and  children  of  the  sharp- 
shooters crowded  on  the  beach,  howling 
to  the  sun  as  if  they  had  lost  their  senses. 
Moorish  caravans,  just  arrived  from  the 
Soudan  with  their  loads  of  incongruous 
baggage  and  their  beautiful  wives,  formed 
a  circle  on  the  sands'  waiting  to  see 
them  off. 

About  four  o'clock,  the  flotilla  which 
was  to  ascend  the  river  as  far  as  Diald6, 
in  Gallam,  was  loaded  with  its  cargo  of 
human  beings,  and  set  out  on  its  journey 
under  the  heat  of  a  fiery  sun. 


276  The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi. 

Saint  Louis  soon  disappeared  in  the 
distance,  its  regular  outlines  becoming 
dim  and  indistinct,  and  finally  faded 
away  in  pale-blue  streaks  on  the  yellow 
sands. 

Wide  and  salubrious  plains  stretched 
out  on  each  side  of  the  river,  and  as  far 
as  the  eye  could  see  there  were  deserts, 
eternally  warm,  eternally  gloomy.  And 
this  was  but  the  entrance  to  that  immense 
country  forgotten  of  God — -the  vestibule 
to  the  vast  solitudes  of  Africa. 

Jean,  with  the  other  spahis,  had  em- 
barked upon  the  Faieme,  which  sailed 
rapidly  ahead,  and  was  soon  two  days  in 
advance. 

Before  his  departure  he  had  written  a 
reply  to  the  poor  old  Francoise.  Upon 
reflection,  he  disdained  to  write  to  his 
betrothed ;  but  in  the  letter  to  his  mother 
he  poured  out  his  whole  soul,  and  said  all 
he   could   to  comfort  her    and   give  her 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         277 

hope  and  peace  of  mind.  "After  all,"  he 
wrote,  "  she  was  too  rich  for  us,  and  we 
can  easily  find  in  France  another  young 
girl  who  will  marry  me,  and  we  will  so 
arrange  it  that  we  may  all  live  together 
in  the  old  house,  so  that  we  may  not  be 
separated  from  you.  I  have  no  other 
thought  now  than  the  joyful  anticipation 
of  seeing  you,  and  in  three  months  I  will 
return.  I  swear  to  you  that  I  will  never, 
never  leave  you  again." 

This  was  really  his  intention,  and  every 
day  he  thought  much  of  his  old  parents; 
but  the  idea  of  spending  the  rest  of  his 
days  without  Jeanne  Mery  threw  a  thick 
veil  of  mourninof  over  the  brigrht  dreams 
of  his  return.  He  felt  that  he  no  longer 
had  an  object  in  life,  and  the  future 
lay  before  him,  shrouded  in  the  deepest 
gloom. 

By  his  side,  on  the  deck  of  the  Faleme^ 
was  Nyaor-fall,  the  tall  black  spahi,  and 


278  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

to  him  he  confided  his  troubles,  as  he  was 
his  most  faithful  friend. 

Nyaor  scarcely  understood  these  senti- 
ments, as  he  had  never  loved.  He  pos- 
sessed, it  is  true,  under  his  thatched  roof, 
three  wives  whom  he  had  purchased,  but 
he  counted  upon  selling  them  as  soon  as 
they  ceased  to  please  him. 

Nevertheless,  he  comprehended  that 
his  friend  Jean  was  unhappy;  so  he  smiled 
at  him  pleasantly,  and  in  order  to  distract 
his  mind  he  related  some  very  ludicrous 
anecdotes  of  a  certain  race  of  negroes 
who  sleep  standing.       * 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         279 


VIII. 

The  flotilla  sailed  up  the  river  with  all 
possible  speed,  anchoring  each  day  at 
sunset,  and  resuming  the  route  at  day- 
break. 

At  the  first  French  post  they  took  on 
more  black  men  and  women  and  other 
baggage.  At  Dagana  they  rested  for  two 
days,  and  the  Faleme  received  orders  to 
continue  her  route  alone  to  Podor,  the 
last  post  before  they  entered  the  land  of 
Gallam,  where  there  were  already  assem- 
bled several  companies  of  sharp-shooters. 

The  Faleme  ascended  the  narrow  yellow 
stream  that  separates  the  Moorish  Sahara 
from  that  great  mysterious  continent  in- 
habited by  the  blacks,  and  was  soon  lost 
in  the  interior. 

Jean    contemplated   with   deep   melan- 


28o         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

choly  the  solitudes  through  which  they 
were  passing,  following  with  his  eye  the 
ever-receding  horizon,  and  the  Senegal, 
that  trailed  behind  them  in  the  infinite 
distance  like  a  sinuous  ribbon. 

To  him  there  seemed  to  be  a  curse  on 
all  the  land ;  and  as  the  great  plains 
unrolled  before  him,  he  was  impressed 
with  an  indefinable  fear,  as  if  the  earth  was 
closing  behind  him,  shutting  off  forever 
his  return. 

On  the  gloomy  banks  of  the  river  bald- 
headed  storks  and  large  black  vultures 
stalked  gravely,  casting  shadows  like 
those  of  human  beings.  Sometimes  a 
curious  monkey  darted  out  of  the  man- 
drake thickets,  startled  at  the  sight  of  the 
vessel  threading  its  way  up  the  silent  river; 
and  now  and  then  a  fine  white  aigrette 
or  a  martin-fisher,  with  gorgeous  plumage 
of  blue  and  emerald,  flew  out  of  the  reeds, 
awakening   in   its   flight   the   lazy  alliga- 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         281 

tors  sleeping  in  the  mud  on  the  banks  of 
the  river.  On  the  southern  bank,  the 
side  inhabited  by  the  sons  of  Ham,  nu- 
merous villages  were  scattered  at  intervals 
in  the  depths  of  the  desert  plains. 

As  they  neared  these  habitations  of 
men  they  could  see  from  afar  groups  of 
gigantic  fan-shaped  palms,  a  kind  of  fetich 
tree  that  protects  the  towns.  In  the  midst 
of  the  vast  naked  plains  these  palms  re- 
mind one  of  giants  keeping  guard  in  the 
desert.  Their  trunks  are  of  a  reddish 
color,  and  are  as  smooth  and  straight  as 
Byzantine  columns.  On  the  top  of  each 
tree  is  a  meagre  tuft  of  foliage,  pointed 
like  the  beams  of  a  star. 

On  approaching  nearer  such  a  group 
of  palms,  one  never  fails  to  discover  a 
negro  ant-hill — numbers  of  pointed  gray 
huts  massed  together  on  the  yellow 
sands. 

Sometimes   these    African    towns    are 


282         The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi. 

quite  extensive.  They  are  always  sur- 
rounded by  a  tatas,  a  thick  wall  of  mud 
and  wood,  which  protects  them  from  the 
invasion  of  their  enemies,  and  from  wild 
beasts. 

A  white  flag  floating  from  a  roof  a 
little  elevated  above  the  others  indicates 
the  residence  of  the  king. 

At  the  gates  of  these  ramparts  there 
appeared  the  sombre  forms  of  old  priests 
and  chiefs,  covered  with  amulets,  their 
great  black  arms  contrasting  strangely 
with  their  long  white  robes. 

They  gazed  with  awe  at  the  Faleme 
as  she  glided  up  the  river,  her  guns  and 
battalions  ready  to  fire  at  the  least  hostile 
movement. 

Why  do  these  men  dwell  there  in  the 
depths  of  an  arid,  desolate  country,  spend- 
ing their  whole  lives  with  no  knowledge 
of  the  outside  world  .?  They  know  noth- 
ing of  anything  but  the  desert  and  the 
implacable  sun. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         283 

On  the  Sahara  side  of  the  river  there 
is  the  same  look  of  desolation,  the  same 
dreary  waste  of  sand. 

Sometimes  they  saw  in  the  distance 
dense  clouds  of  smoke  rising  upward 
from  the  fires  of  herbs  lighted  by  the 
Moors.  The  chains  of  red  hills  on  the 
horizon,  seen  through  this  smoke,  had  the 
appearance  of  innumerable  furnaces  whose 
flames  seemed  reflected  on  the  surface  of 
great  lakes,  which,  in  this  country  of  burn- 
ing droughts  and  parched  sands,  are  per- 
petually pictured  in  the  never-ceasing 
mirage. 

The  landscape  dappled  and  trembled 
in  the  intense  heat.  The  scene  changed 
as  in  a  vision,  and  the  eye  grew  weary  in 
watching  the  panorama. 

Sometimes  there  appeared  on  the 
banks  men  of  a  pure  white  race.  They 
were  bronzed  and  savage,  but  their  feat- 
ures  were   regular    and  handsome,    and 


284  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

their  long  flowing  hair  gave  them  the 
appearance  of  Biblical  prophets  as  they 
stood  there  in  the  sun  with  uncovered 
heads,  clothed  in  long,  dark-blue  robes. 
They  were  Moors  of  the  tribe  of  Brak- 
nas  and  Trarzas — bandits,  thieves,  and 
robbers,  the  most  worthless  of  all  the 
African  races. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.        285 


IX. 

The  eastern  breeze,  like  a  powerful 
breath  from  the  Sahara,  rose  by  degrees, 
augmented  in  intensity  in  proportion  to 
its  distance  from  the  sea.  A  dry  wind, 
as  hot  as  the  air  from  a  forge,  blew  from 
the  desert,  scattering  over  everything  a 
fine  powdered  sand,  and  carrying  along 
with  it  the  burning  drought  of  Beled-el- 
Ateuch. 

Water  had  to  be  thrown  continually  on 
the  canvas  that  sheltered  the  spahis. 

As  they  approached  Podor,  the  largest 
town  on  the  river,  the  banks  on  the 
Sahara  side  became  more  animated.  It 
was  the  entrance  to  the  country  of 
Douiiich,  which  has  become  enriched  by 
the  cattle  raids  made  by  the  Moors  on 
the  black  country.     These  Moors  swim 


286  TJie  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

across  the  Senegal  in  long  caravans,  driv- 
ing before  them  in  the  water  the  stolen 
animals. 

Encampments  began  to  appear  on  the 
plains;  tents  made  of  camel's  hair  were 
stretched  upon  wooden  poles,  resembling 
the  great  wings  of  bats  spread  out  on  the 
sands,  black  and  grotesque,  in  the  heart 
of  that  yellow  country — always  uniformly 
yellow. 

There  were  increased  life  and  anima- 
tion everywhere,  and  crowds  of  people 
thronged  the  banks  of  the  river  to  watch 
them  pass.  The  copper-colored  Moorish 
women,  their  heads  adorned  with  chaplets 
of  coral,  jogged  along  on  little  hump- 
backed cows,  and  capering  behind  them 
on  the  backs  of  restive  calves  were  chil- 
dren, their  heads  covered  with  shaggy 
tufts  of  hair  that  resembled  mane,  and 
bodies  as  tawny  and  muscular  as  young 
satyrs. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.         287 


X. 

Podor  is  an  important  French  post  on 
the  southern  bank  of  the  Senegal.  There 
is  a  great  fortress  there  that  is  cracked 
and  bHstered  by  the  sun,  for  it  is  the  hot- 
test place  on  earth. 

A  long,  almost  shady  street  runs  along 
the  river,  built  up  of  ancient  sombre-look- 
ing houses.  On  this  street  may  be  seen 
French  traders,  jaundiced  by  the  fever 
and  the  enervating  climate;  also  black 
and  Moorish  merchants,  who  crouch  there 
on  the  sands,  offering  for  sale  ostrich 
feathers,  amulets,  ivory,  and  gold-dust. 

Back  of  this  European  street  lies  the 
straw-thatched  negro  town,  honey-combed 
with  long  narrow  streets.  It  is  sur- 
rounded by  a  thick  wooden  barricade, 
and  is  fortified  like  a  citadel. 


2  88  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi, 

The  evening  after  their  arrival,  Jean 
took  a  walls:  in  company  with  his  friend, 
Nyaor-fall.  The  sad  songs  and  strange 
voices  that  floated  from  behind  the  walls, 
the  unusual  scenes,  and  the  hot  wind  that 
burned  in  spite  of  night,  filled  the  heart 
of  Jean  with  a  vague  terror,  and  an  inex- 
pressible anguish,  produced  by  homesick- 
ness and  solitude,  weighed  upon  his 
spirits.  He  had  never  suffered  so — not 
even  at  the  distant  post  of  Diakhalleme, 

Around  Podor  were  fields  of  millet, 
brier-patches,  stunted  trees,  and  a  few 
herbs.  Across  the  river,  on  the  Moorish 
side,  lay  the  open  desert.  And  there  at 
the  entrance  of  that  painful  route  which 
loses  itself  in  the  sands  as  it  trends  north- 
ward, was  a  sign-post  bearing  the  pro- 
phetic inscription,  "  The  way  to  Algeria  ! " 


The  Rotnatice  of  a  Spahi.         289 


XI. 

When  Jean  rejoined  his  companions  on 
the  Faleme,  it  was  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  and  a  dull-red  sun  was  rising 
over  the  country  of  Douiach.  The 
Faleme  was  preparing  to  start.  The 
negresses  were  already  on  deck,  wrapped 
in  their  fantastic  garments,  and  lying  so 
close  together  that  one  could  see  nothing 
on  the  floor  but  a  confused  mass  of  stuff, 
above  which  were  thrown  many  black 
arms  encircled  with  bracelets. 

As  Jean  passed  among  them,  he  felt 
himself  suddenly  held  back ;  a  pair  of 
supple  arms  entwined  themselves  around 
him  like  serpents,  and  a  woman  clung  to 
him,  embracing  him. 

"T'Jean!  T'Jean!"  said  a  queer  little 

voice,    which    he    at     once     recognized, 
le 


290  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi, 

"T'Jean,  I  have  followed  you,  fearing 
that  you  might  gam  Paradise  in  the  war. 
T'Jean,  will  you  not  look  at  your  little 
son?"  And  the  two  black  arms  lifted 
above  her  a  little  brown  baby. 

"My  son!"  repeated  Jean,  with  the 
brusqueness  of  a  soldier,  nevertheless 
with  a  tremor  in  his  voice.  "  My  son  ! 
What  is  it  you  are  saying,  Fatou-gaye?" 

"Alas,  it  is  true!"  continued  he,  in  a 
voice  full  of  emotion,  lowering  his  head 
to  regard  the  child.  "  It  is  undoubtedly 
true,  for  the  child  is  almost  white  !  " 

The  child  was  the  image  of  Jean,  hav- 
ing inherited  his  rich  dark  complexion 
and  large  solemn  eyes.  Holding  out  its 
little  hands  to  Jean,  it  frowned  with  an 
expression  already  grave  and  questioning, 
as  if  seeking  to  comprehend  how  the 
blood  of  a  mountaineer  of  the  C^vennes 
had  become  mingled  with  the  impure 
blood  of  a  black  race. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.         291 

Jean  was  overcome  by  some  hidden 
mysterious  power,  and  his  heart  was 
troubled.  He  stooped  and  embraced  his 
little  son  with  tenderness,  and  sentiments 
heretofore  unknown  penetrated  the  very 
depths  of  his  soul. 

The  voice  of  Fatou-gaye  awakened  in 
him  a  crowd  of  slumbering  echoes.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  now  they  were  bound 
together  by  ties  too  powerful  for  even 
separation  to  weaken. 

And  then,  too,  she  had  been  faithful 
to  him  in  her  way;  and  now  he  felt  so 
abandoned  and  forsaken  by  all.  He  per- 
mitted her  to  place  around  his  neck  an 
amulet,  and  he  divided  with  her  his 
rations  for  the  day. 


292  The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi. 


XII. 

The  vessel  continued  its  course ;  the 
river  ran  more  southward,  and  the  coun- 
try changed. 

Groves  began  to  appear  on  the  banks 
of  the  river,  and  here  and  there  were 
mimosas,  gum  trees,  tamarinds,  with  their 
airy,  graceful  foliage,  and  green  herbs 
scattered  over  grassy  meadows. 

It  was  no  longer  the  flora  of  the  tropics, 
but  rather  the  delicate  vegetation  of  a 
northern  climate.  Aside  from  the  ex- 
cessive heat  and  monotonous  silence, 
there  was  nothing  to  remind  one  of  the 
heart  of  Africa.  It  was  more  like  the 
banks  of  some  peaceful  ri-ver  of  Europe. 
In  those  groves  a  Watteau  shepherdess 
would  not  have  been  out  of  place. 

Nevertheless,   there  were  some   negro 


The  Romance  of  a  SpaJii.         293 

pastoral  scenes  which  arrested  the  eye ; 
some  amorous  African  couples,  bedecked 
with  beads  and  trinkets,  herding  their 
lean  oxen  and  goats,  while  near  by  were 
innumerable  gray  alligators,  half  plunged 
in  the  warm  waters,  asleep  in  the  sun. 

Fatou-gaye  was  smiling,  with  a  singular 
look  of  joy  in  her  eyes,  for  she  saw  that 
she  was  approaching  the  land  of  Gallam, 
her  ov/n  country.  There  was  only  one 
thing  to  mar  her  bliss  ;  that  was,  in  pass- 
ing the  grassy  marshes  and  stagnant 
pools  bordered  with  mandrakes,  her  soul 
was  filled  with  inquietude  for  fear  of 
seeing  protruding  above  the  water  the 
snout  of  an  hippopotamus,  the  sight  of 
which  would  be  to  her  a  sign  of  death. 

What  cunning,  what  perseverance,  what 
insinuation  she  must  have  employed  to 
obtain  passage  on  the  vessel  upon  which 
Jean  had  embarked ! 

Whence  had  she  fled  when  she  left  the 


294  ^-^^  Rofnance  of  a  Spahi. 

house  of  Coura-n'diaye?  to  what  covert 
had  she  flown  to  conceal  herself  till  the 
birth  of  the  child  of  the  spahi  ? 

But  now  she  was  happy;  she  was  return- 
ing  to  Gallam,  and   he    was   with   her 
her  dream  was  accomplished. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         295 


XIII. 

Dialde  is  situated  at  the  confluence  of 
the  Senegal  and  a  nameless  river  that 
flows  from  the  south.  It  is  a  negro  set- 
tlement of  little  importance,  defended  by  a 
small  block-house  of  French  construction, 
which  resembles  the  detached  forts  of  the 
interior  of  Algeria. 

It  being  the  nearest  point  to  the  coun- 
try of  Boubakar-Segou,  the  French  troops 
were  to  encamp  there  and  reunite  with 
the  allied  armies  of  Bambarras,  in  the 
midst  of  friendly  tribes. 

The  flat  country  around  the  village 
had  the  same  monotony  and  aridity  that 
characterize  the  borders  of  the  lower 
Senegal. 

Nevertheless,  there  was  some  verdure, 
some  clumps  of  trees  and  small    forests, 


296  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

Vhich  reminded  one  that  the  country  of 
Gallam  had  been  entered — the  wooded 
regions  of  the  centre  of  Africa. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         297 


XIV. 

Some  timid  old  women  of  the  allied 
tribes  brought  information  that  they  had 
seen  upon  the  sands  near  Dialde  fresh 
foot-prints  of  a  numerous  troop  of  infantry, 
which  could  be  none  other  than  the  army 
pf  the  great  black  king. 

For  several  hours  the  three  spahis — 
Jean,  Nyaor,  and  Sergeant  Muller — had 
traversed  the  plains  east  of  the  encamp- 
ment without  seeing  a  human  foot-print, 
or  any  trace  of  the  passage  of  an  army. 

The  sun  revealed  the  foot-prints  of  every 
beast  of  Africa,  from  the  big  round  hole 
scooped  out  by  the  heavy  foot  of  the  hip- 
popotamus to  the  small  delicate  triangle 
left  by  the  hoof  of  the  light  gazelle  as  it 
takes  its  nimble  course  across  the  sands. 

The  sands,  indurated    by    the   winter 


298         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

rains,  preserve  with  perfect  fidelity  the 
marks  left  upon  them  by  the  inhabitants 
of  the  desert.  One  can  see  there  the  im- 
press of  the  paws  of  the  monkey,  the 
great  swinging  footsteps  of  the  giraffe, 
the  tracks  of  lizards,  of  serpents,  of  lions, 
of  jackals,  and  the  prodigious  boundings 
of  the  hunted  deer. 

What  a  terrible  animation  comes  to 
these  desert  plains  at  night-fall !  As  long 
as  the  sun  looks  down  upon  them  with  its 
flaming  eye,  all  is  silent;  but  what  imagi- 
nation can  picture  the  fearful  orgies  of 
that  savage  life ! 

As  the  spahis  rode  along,  the  game 
concealed  in  the  bushes  took  a  startled 
flight,  and  flying  about  in  the  range  of 
theirguns  were  red  partridges,  blue  and  red 
jackdaws,  pheasants,  gorgeous  thrushes, 
and  tremendous  buzzards.  But  the  spahis 
did  not  molest  them,  too  engrossed  in 
their  search  for  the  foot-prints  of  men. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.        299 

Evening  approached;  dense  vapors  hung 
over  the  horizon  ;  the  sun  was  dull  and 
heavy,  with  that  immobility  of  aspect 
which  the  imagination  gives  to  the  ante- 
diluvian sunsets  at  an  epoch  when  the 
atmosphere,  charged  with  vital  substances, 
suspended  over  the  primitive  world  the 
monstrous  germs  of  mammoth  and  plesi- 
osaurus.  At  last,  sinking  behind  myste- 
rious vapors,  it  became  livid  and  rayless, 
appearing  through  the  vapors  enlarged 
and  distorted,  and  then  suddenly  it  was 
extinguished. 

Nyaor,  who  had  been  following  Jean 
and  Muller  with  his  habitual  indifference 
and  silence,  suddenly  declared  the  recon- 
noissance  was  growing  imprudent,  and 
that  his  friends  would  be  unnecessarily 
rash  if  they  continued  it. 

Almost  any  surprise  or  attack  was  to 
be  apprehended;  besides, there  were  every- 
where to  be  seen  the  fresh  foot-prints  of 


300  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

lions.  Their  horses  had  already  begun 
to  smell  the  five  claws  so  clearly  defined 
on  the  sands,  and  trembled  with  fear. 

So  they  turned  their  bridles,  and  were 
soon  flying  like  the  wind  in  the  direction 
of  the  block-house.  In  the  distance  they 
could  hear  the  terrible  and  cavernous 
voice  which  the  Moors  compare  to  thunder 
— the  voice  of  the  lion  in  chase.  They 
were  brave  men,  but  the  sound  of  that 
voice  gave  them  a  kind  of  vertigo  and 
made  them  redouble  their  speed.  Their 
fear  was  contagious,  and  their  steeds 
bounded  forward  through  the  reeds  and 
bushes,  which  lashed  their  knees  and  im- 
peded their  flight. 

But  they  soon  perceived  the  river  which 
separated  them  from  the  encampment 
and  the  inhabited  world.  The  block- 
house at  Dialde  gleamed  in  the  last  red 
light  of  the  sun  as  they  swam  the  river 
and  entered  the  camp. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         301 


XV. 

Although  twilight  was  the  most  melan- 
choly hour  of  the  day,  it  brought  to  this 
village  an  original  and  strange  animation. 
There  was  a  confused  murmur  of  voices 
as  the  shepherds  returned  with  their 
flocks,  the  warriors  sharpened  and  bur- 
nished their  prehistoric  guns,  and  the 
women  prepared  the  Kouss-Kouss  for  the 
army,  all  mingled  with  the  bleating  of 
goats  and  the  plaintive  bowlings  of  the 
wolf-dogs. 

Fatou-gaye  sat  at  the  entrance  of  the 
block-house  with  her  infant  in  her  arms, 
wearing  the  humble  and  suppliant  air  she 
had  assumed  since  her  last  meeting  with 
Jean. 

And  Jean,  whose  heart  was  sad  and 
lonely,  came  and  sat  beside  her,  and  took 


302  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

his  child  upon  his  knee.  Somehow  he 
felt  cheered  and  softened  by  the  presence 
of  his  black  family,  and  he  was  happy  to 
find  at  Dialde  someone  who  loved  him. 

At  a  short  distance  from  them  the  griots 
were  chanting  war-songs  softly,  in  a  sad 
falsetto,  accompanied  by  their  little  guitars 
of  two  strings,  which  gave  forth  a  sound 
like  the  shrill  noise  made  by  a  grass- 
hopper. 

They  chanted  African  airs  that  harmo- 
nized well  with  the  desolation  of  the  sur- 
rounding country,  but  which  have  a  cer- 
tain charm — an  indescribable,  monotonous 
rhythm. 

Jean's  little  son  was  a  sweet  babe, 
though  its  expression  was  serious,  and  it 
rarely  ever  smiled.  Fatou-gaye  had  ar- 
rayed it  in  a  blue  frock,  with  a  necklace 
of  coral,  like  other  Jaloff  infants;  but  she 
had  not  shorn  off  the  little  curls,  as  was 
customary    with    the    children    of     that 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         303 

country,  and  they  already  lay  upon  his 
brow  in  soft  ringlets,  which  heightened 
its  resemblance  to  Jean. 

The  spahi  remained  at  the  door  of  the 
block-house  for  a  long  time,  playing  with 
the  little  boy,  and  the  dying  light  of  day 
shone  on  this  singular  picture:  Jean,  in 
all  his  manly  beauty  and  warlike  bearing, 
holding  in  his  arms  the  child  with  its  tiny 
angelic  form ;  Fatou-gaye  on  the  ground 
beside  them,  gazing  at  them  with  eyes  full 
of  love  and  adoration;  and  behind  them,  in 
the  shadows,  the  sinister  black  musicians. 

Fatou-gaye  was  in  ecstasy  at  being  so 
near  to  Jean,  and  to  know  that  she  was 
forgiven  ;  and  she  sat  on  the  ground  be- 
fore him  like  a  dog  at  the  feet  of  its 
master. 

Poor  Jean!  he  was  still  a  boy,  notwith- 
standing his  precocioi^s  physical  develop- 
ment, which  had  given  him  a  mature  and 
serious  manner,  and  he  danced  the  little 


304  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

child  upon  his  knee  with  all  the  awkward- 
ness of  a  soldier.  There  was  a  fresh 
young  smile  on  his  lips,  but  the  child 
would  not  smile,  though  he  put  his  little 
dimpled  arms  around  the  neck  of  his 
father;  he  laid  his  head  upon  his  shoulder 
and  regarded  him  with  a  look  of  deep 
gravity. 

At  night-fall  Jean  installed  Fatou-gaye 
comfortably  within  the  block-house,  then 
gave  her  all  the  money  he  had  left,  which 
amounted  to  fifteen  francs. 

"  Take  this,"  he  said,  "and  to-morrow 
morning  buy  Kouss-Kotiss  for  yourself  and 
fresh  milk  for  the  little  one." 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.        305 


XVI. 

He  then  took  his  way  back  to  the  en- 
campment to  learn  the  news,  and  later  on 
to  sleep. 

In  order  to  reach  the  tents  of  the 
spahis  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  pass 
by  the  encampment  of  the  allied  tribes  of 
Bambarras. 

The  night  was  transparent  and  lumi- 
nous, and  the  buzzing  of  insects  was  almost 
deafening.  In  all  the  hollows  of  the  sands 
and  on  every  herb  were  thousands  and 
thousands  of  crickets  and  grasshoppers, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  the  air  was  full  of  an 
infinite  number  of  little  bells  and  rattles, 
which  at  one  moment  swelled  forth 
tumultuously,  and  after  awhile  would 
almost  die  away,  as   if  the  crickets    had 

given  the  order  to  sing  more  softly. 
20 


3o6  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

Jean  walked  along  abstractedly,  wholly 
absorbed  in  his  thoughts.  He  did  not 
look  ahead  of  him,  and  all  at  once  he 
found  himself  encircled  by  a  ring  of  whirl- 
ing dancers,  who  sang  softly  and  harmo- 
niously as  they  glided  around  in  a  circle, 
a  favorite  dance  of  Bambarras. 

The  dancers  were  all  tall  men,  clothed 
in  long  white  robes,  and  on  their  heads 
were  white  turbans  with  black  horns. 

They  floated  so  softly  and  slowly  around 
him  that  it  seemed  to  Jean  as  if  it  were  a 
dance  of  the  fairies  there  in  the  starlight. 
The  only  perceptible  sound  was  the  rus- 
tling of  their  flowing  draperies,  whose 
thousands  of  folds  were  spread  out  like 
the  wings  of  great  white  birds.  They  all 
assumed  different  attitudes  simultane- 
ously, balancing  themselves  on  the  point 
of  the  toe,  and  swaying  gently  backward 
and  forward. 

The  noise    of   the    tam-tam   was    faint 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.        307 

and  muffled  in  the  distance,  and  the  sad 
notes  of  the  flutes  and  ivory  trumpets 
seemed  veiled  and  far  away. 

As  they  whirled  around  Jean  they  in- 
clined their  heads  in  sign  of  recognition, 
and  smilingly  whispered: 

"  T'Jean,  T'Jean,  enter  the  dance  !" 

Jean  recognized  nearly  all  of  them, 
even  in  that  strange  raiment.  Tliey  were 
the  black  spahis  and  sharp-shooters,  who 
had  assumed  the  white  robe  and  uncouth 
head-dress  of  the  Temba-sembe  of  their 
festivals. 

They  whirled  around  and  around,  keep- 
ing time  to  the  weird,  monotonous  music, 
which  seemed  to  thrill  them  as  a  magic 
incantation. 

As  they  passed  him,  Jean  nodded  his 
head  and  smilingly  called  their  names. 

"  Good  evening,  Niodagal!  Good  even- 
ing, Imobe-Fafandon  !  Good  evening^ 
Demba-Taco,     and     Samba-fall !      Good 


3o8  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

evening,  tall  Nyaor!"  For  Nyaor  was 
there,  the  grandest  of  them  all. 

He  hastened  onward,  and  endeavored 
to  disentangle  himself  from  the  long  chain 
of  dancers  that  coiled  and  uncoiled  itself 
about  him.  The  night,  the  dancers,  the 
low  faint  music  impressed  him  strangely, 
as  if  they  belonged  to  another  world. 

But  they  repeated  their  invitation, 
"T'Jean,  T'Jean,  enter  the  dance!"  float- 
ing around  him  like  spirits,  amusing  them- 
selves by  keeping  him  entangled  in  the 
mystic  circle,  which  widened  as  he  walked 
along. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.        309 


XVII. 

As  Jean  lay  under  his  tent  that  night, 
his  brain  was  busy  with  plans  for  the 
future. 

He  determined  to  return  at  once  to 
see  his  old  parents — he  would  allow  noth- 
ing to  defer  his  departure ;  but  he  would 
return  to  Africa  to  find  his  son,  for  he  felt 
that  he  really  loved  him  with  his  whole 
heart,  and  he  would  never  abandon  him. 

Near  by,  in  the  camps  of  the  Bam- 
barras,  he  could  hear  the  voices  of  the 
griots  singing  their  plaintive,  consecrated 
war-songs,  soothing  the  first  dreams  of 
the  black  warriors.  They  entreated  them 
to  be  brave,  and  to  load  their  carbines 
heavily  on  the  day  of  the  fight,  which  was 
soon  to  dawn  upon  them,  for  Boubakar- 
Segou  was  not  far  away. 


3IO  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

What  would  he  do  at  Saint  Louis  when 
he  returned  to  find  his  Httle  child  ? 

Would  he  reenlist,  or  would  he  try  his 
fortune  in  some  other  venturesome  pro- 
ceeding ? 

He  might  become  a  trader  on  the 
river.  But  no  ;  he  felt  an  invincible  aver- 
sion for  any  occupation  but  that  of  the 
field  and  of  arms. 

At  last  the  noises  of  life  in  the  village 
of  Dialde  had  ceased,  and  the  encamp- 
ment was  silent.  Far  away  in  the  dis- 
tance could  be  heard  the  roar  of  the  lion, 
and  that  most  lugubrious  sound  on  earth 
— the  yelping  of  the  jackals.  It  was  a 
funereal  accompaniment  to  the  dreams  of 
the  poor  spahi. 

Overcome  with  the  fatigues  and  advent- 
ures of  the  day,  Jean  soon  fell  asleep, 
still  dreaming  of  the  future. 

But  in  his  dreams  he  could  see  the 
dancers  whirling  slowly  around  him,  pass- 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         311 

ing  and  repassing  him  with  mute  gest- 
ures and  languishing  attitudes,  keeping 
time  to  that  sweet,  unearthly  music. 
"  T'Jean,  T'Jean,  enter  the  dance  !" 
Their  heads,  which  were  inclined  to 
salute  him,  seemed  to  bend  beneath  their 
heavy  head-dress.  They  made  horrible 
grimaces  and  assumed  ghostly  forms,  and 
bending  over  him  with  a  knowing  air, 
upon  their  lips  the  smile  of  phantoms, 
they  whispered  softly: 

"T'Jean,  T'Jean,  enter  the  dance!" 
And  just  as  he  seemed  about  to  yield 
to  this  weird    invitation,    he   fell    into    a 
deep  and  dreamless  sleep. 


312  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XVIII. 

At  three  o'clock  the  morning  of  the 
great  day,  the  day  of  the  combat,  all  was 
in  a  state  of  aoritation  and  excitement  at 
the  encampment  at  Dialde.  The  spahis, 
sharp-shooters,  and  allied  troops  were  all 
preparing  to  march  with  their  arms  and 
munitions  of  war. 

The  Mahometan  priests  were  repeat- 
ing their  long  prayers  and  distributing 
talismans. 

By  order  of  the  chiefs,  the  black  war- 
riors had  loaded  their  carbines  with 
lead  almost  to  the  muzzles,  as  they  did 
on  the  days  of  all  great  battles ;  and  it 
often  happens,  in  the  wars  in  black  coun- 
tries, the  whole  load  is  scattered  at  the 
first  discharge. 

They  were  to  march  in  the  direction  of 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.       3  r  3 

the  village  of  Djidiam,  where,  on  the  in- 
formation of  native  spies,  Boubakar- 
Segou  was  entrenched  with  his  army 
behind  the  thick  walls  of  mud  and  wood. 

Djidiam  was  the  strongest  fortress  of 
this  almost  legendary  king,  who  was  the 
terror  of  the  surrounding  country;  a  sort 
of  myth,  whose  strength  lay  in  his  flight 
and  concealment  in  the  impenetrable  re- 
cesses of  that  murderous  country  where 
he  dwelt  undiscovered. 

That  afternoon  they  proposed  to  camp 
under  the  great  trees,  not  far  from  the 
enemy's  quarters,  in  order  to  fall  upon 
Djidiam  at  night,  and  set  fire  to  the  vil- 
lage, which  would  burn  under  the  clear 
heavens  like  an  auto-dd-fe  of  straw.  Then 
they  would  return,  victorious,  to  Saint 
Louis  before  the  fatal  fever  had  decimated 
their  ranks. 

During  the  night,  Jean  wrote  a  tender 
letter  to  his  old  parents,  and  sent  it  with 


314         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

the  other  mail  on  the  Faleme,  which  that 
evening  would  descend  the  river. 

A  little  before  sunrise,  he  embraced 
his  infant,  asleep  on  the  arm  of  Fatou- 
gaye,  then  mounted  his  horse. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spa  hi.         3 1 5 


XIX. 

Early  in  the  morning,  Fatou-gaye  also 
started  out,  with  her  infant  on  her  back. 

She  went  in  the  direction  of  Nialoum- 

bao,  a  village  of   an   allied  tribe,   where 

dwelt  an  old  Mahometan  priest  who  was 

famous  in  all  the  country  around  for  fort- 

*.   une-telling  and  soothsaying. 

She  was  conducted  to  the  hut  of  the 
centenarian,  whom  she  found  reclining  on 
a  mat,  as  if  dying,  muttering  prayers. 

They  had  a  long  interview,  and  the 
priest  gave  her  a  small  leather  bag,  which 
evidently  contained  something  precious, 
for  she  concealed  it  carefully  in  her 
bosom. 

He  then  gave  the  infant  a  beverage 
which  put  him  into  3.  deep  sleep. 

In  payment,  Fatou-gaye  gave  him  three 


3 1 6         The  Romance  of  a  Spaki. 

large  pieces  of  silver,  the  last  franc  of 
poor  Jean.  She  then  enveloped  her  little 
son,  who  seemed  to  sleep  a  magical  sleep, 
in  a  blue  embroidered  cloth,  and  bearing 
him  upon  her  back,  she  walked  in  the 
direction  of  the  woods  where  the  troops 
would  encamp  in  the  evening. 


The  Rotna7ice  of  a  Spahi.         3 1 7 


XX. 

Seven  o'clock  in  the  morning.  An 
obscure  spot  in  the  country  of  Diambour. 
On  one  side  are  grassy  marshes  filled 
with  herbs  and  stagnant  water,  and  low 
hills  bound  the  horizon  ;  on  the  opposite 
side,  as  far  as  the  eye  can.  see,  are  the 
great  plains  of  Dialakar. 

All  is  silent  and  desolate. 

Jean,  with  ten  or  twelve  other  spahis 
in  charge  of  an  adjutant,  have  been  sent 
out  to  reconnoitre. 

In  the  air  there  was  no  presage  of  death, 
nothing  funereal.  The  sun  mounted 
tranquilly  in  the  heavens.  The  herbs 
and  bushes  in  the  marshes  still  glittered 
with  the  dew  of  night,  and  butterflies 
with  gorgeous  wings  flitted  above  the 
water-lilies  that  unfolded  their  snow-white 
blossoms  on  the  pools  of  water. 


3i8  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

The  heat  soon  became  oppressive,  and 
the  horses  stretched  out  their  necks  to 
drink,  sniffing  the  stagnant  waters  with 
dilated  nostrils. 

The  spahis  paused  for  a  moment  to 
hold  council,  and  dismounted  to  moisten 
their  hats  and  bathe  their  heated  brows. 
Suddenly,  in  the  distance  they  heard  a 
sound  like  the  noise  of  many  drums 
beating  simultaneously. 

"The  great  tam-tams!"  said  Sergeant 
Muller,  who  had  often  seen  war  in  the 
black  country. 

And  instinctively  those  who  had  dis- 
mounted ran  to  their  horses. 

But  a  black  head  rose  near  them  from 
the  bushes ;  it  was  an  old  priest,  who 
rnade  a  strange  sign  with  his  lean  arm, 
as  if  a  maeic  order  addressed  to  the  reeds 
of  the  marshes,  and  a  shower  of  lead  fell 
upon  the  spahis. 

The  weapons  aimed  deliberately  from 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         3 1 9 

the  security  of  this  ambuscade  took 
deadly  effect.  Five  or  six  horses  fell, 
mortally  wounded,  and  others,  surprised 
and  affrighted,  reared  and  plunged,  tram- 
pling under  foot  their  bleeding  riders. 

Jean  was  unhorsed,  and  fell  to  the 
ground  with  a  ball  in  his  breast. 

At  the  same  time,  forty  hostile  heads 
emerged  from  the  high  bushes,  and  forty 
black  demons  reeking  with  mud  arose, 
grinding  their  white  teeth  like  enraged 
monkeys. 

O,  heroic  combat,  that  a  Homer  might 
have  sung,  but  which  remains  obscure 
forever,  forgotten,  like  many  another 
struggle  in  the  far-distant  Africa  ! 

They  performed  prodigies  of  strength 
and  valor,  the  poor  spahis,  in  their  last 
defense.  The  struggle  inflamed  them,  as 
it  ever  does  when  men  are  courageous  by 
nature  and  born  brave.  They  sold  their 
lives  dearly;  but  a  few  years  only  will 


320         The  Romajice  of  a  Spahi. 

elapse  at  Saint  Louis  ere  they  are  for- 
gotten. Who  will  perpetuate  their  names, 
the  names  of  those  who  fell  that  day  in 
the  far-off  country  of  Diambour,  on  the 
plains  of  Dialakar  ? 

In  the  meantime,  the  noise  of  the  tam- 
tam drew  nearer  and  nearer,  and  sud- 
denly the  spahis,  as  if  in  a  dream,  saw 
passing  over  the  hill  a  great  black  army 
of  half-naked  warriors,  glittering  with 
beads  and  trinkets,  running  in  the  di- 
rection of  Dialde  in  detached  crowds. 
Enormous  tam-tams,  gongs  of  war,  which 
four  men  could  hardly  drag  along ;  lean 
horses  of  the  desert,  full  of  fire  and  fury, 
their  harness  plated  with  copper  which 
gleamed  in  the  blazing  sun,  their  manes 
and  tails  as  red  as  blood — all  made  the 
scene  fantastic  and  demoniacal ;  an 
African  nightmare,  as  fleeting  as  the 
wind  ! 

Boubakar-Segou  was  passing  by!        , 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         321 

He  was  going  to  subdue  the  French 
columns. 

They  passed  along  without  noticing 
the  spahis,  leaving  them  to  the  ambushed 
troops  who  had  already  overwhelmed 
them. 

Some  of  the  spahis  pushed  forward 
from  the  bushes  on  the  edge  of  the  water, 
and  fled  onward  over  the  burning  sands, 
but  they  were  soon  exhausted  by  the  ter- 
rible heat.  Not  being  able  to  reload 
their  guns,  they  fought  with  their  knives, 
kicked  and  upset  their  opponents  with 
their  feet,  and  scratched  and  bit  them. 

Jean  was  attacked  by  two  black  fiends, 
who  seemed  to  be  incensed  and  enraged 
at  his  superior  strength.  He  threw  them 
to  the  ground  repeatedly  in  his  fury,  but 
they  arose  each  time  and  confronted  him 
with  increased  rage. 

As  he  lay  there,  dazed  and  confused, 
grasping  their  oily  black  limbs  with  bleed- 


21 


32  2  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

ing  hands,  he  witnessed  the  last  terrible 
scenes :  H is  dying  comrades  fallen  around 
him;  the  great  army  of  the  black  king  in 
the  distance,  flying  over  the  burning  sands ; 
at  his  side  the  handsome  Muller,  vomit- 
ing blood,  the  deatli-rattle  already  in  his 
throat ;  and  a  little  further  on,  the  tall 
black  form  of  Nyaor,  who  was  endeavor- 
ing to  open  a  way  in  the  direction  of 
Salde,  mowing  through  the  crowd  of 
black  demons  with  terrific  blows  of  his 
sabre. 

Finally,  Jean  grew  weaker,  and  suc- 
cumbed to  his  opponents.  They  threw 
him  on  his  back,  holding  him  by  his  arms, 
and  one  of  them  pressed  against  his 
breast  a  great  iron  knife. 

It  was  a  moment  of  terrible  anguish 
for  Jean.  There  was  no  human  succor 
near;  his  comrades  had  all  fallen;  he  was 
alone  and  forsaken.  The  thick  cloth  of 
his  red  coat  and  the  coarse  linen  of  his 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         323 

soldier's  shirt  resisted  the  entrance  of  the 
knife ;  but  the  black  men  pressed  it  very 
hard,  and  Jean  uttered  a  loud,  hoarse  cry 
as  the  blade,  with  a  horrible  grinding  noise, 
plunged  into  his  chest.  Then  they  drew 
it  out  with  both  hands,  and  kicked  his 
body  from  them ;  and  raising  a  shout 
of  victory,  they  turned  in  the  direction  of 
the  army,  and  in  a  moment  had  gone  like 
the  wind. 


324         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XXI. 

The  two  armies  met;  it  was  a  bloody 
battle,  but  it  made  little  noise  in  France. 
Such  combats,  occurring  in  far-distant 
countries,  pass  unnoticed  by  the  crowd, 
and  only  those  who  mourn  the  loss  of  a 
brother,  son,  or  lover  remember  them. 

The  French  troops  were  weakening, 
when,  almost  at  the  end  of  the  action, 
Boubakar-Segou  received  a  load  of  buck- 
shot in  his  right  temple.  The  brains  of 
the  black  king  oozed  out  as  white  as 
milk,  and  he  fell,  surrounded  by  his 
priests,  entangled  in  his  long  chaplet  of 
amulets,  the  iron  cymbals  of  war  clashing 
furiously  in  his  dying  ears.  His  death 
was  the  signal  for  retreat  to  his  followers, 
and  they  fled  precipitately  into  the  impen- 
etrable country  of  the  interior. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.        325 

When  the  French  troops  returned  to 
Saint  Louis  they  carried  with  them  the 
bloody  head-band  of  the  rebel  chief.  It 
was  burned  and  riddled  by  bullets,  and 
attached  to  it  was  a  long  string  of  talis- 
mans and  embroidered  bags  containing 
mysterious  powders,  cabalistic  figures,  and 
prayers  in  the  language  of  Maghreb. 

The  death  of  Boubakar-Segou  had  a 
considerable  moral  effect  on  the  natives, 
and  this  combat  was  followed  by  the  sub- 
mission of  most  of  the  insurgent  chiefs. 

It  was  a  victory,  and  on  their  return  to 
Saint  Louis  there  were  several  promotions 
and  decorations;  but  the  ranks  of  the  poor 
spahis  were  sadly  reduced. 


o 


26  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XXII. 

Left  alone  on  the  sands,  with  the  dew 
of  death  gathering  on  his  brow,  poor 
Jean  crawled  painfully  along  till  he 
reached  a  tamarind  tree,  and  lying  down 
in  the  shade  of  its  foliage,  waited  to  die. 

His  throat  was  agitated  with  convulsive 
movements,  and  he  knew  that  his  end  was 
approaching.  He  suffered  terribly  from 
thirst,  and  the  arid  sands  drank  up  the 
blood  that  flowed  from  his  wounds. 

He  had  strange  visions.  He  saw  famil- 
iar faces ;  the  chain  of  the  Cevennes, 
his  beloved  home  in  the  purple  shadows 
of  the  mountains.  Once  more  he  walked 
with  his  dear  old  mother,  holding  her 
hand,  through  the  mossy  paths,  as  in  his 
childhood.  O,  for  one  caress  from  his 
mother !  for  the  touch  of  her  hand  on  his 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         327 

brow  !  O,  for  one  draught  of  water  from 
the  Hmpid  stream  that  ran  through  the 
forest,  to  cool  his  parched  throat  and 
burning  brain  ! 

Was  this  the  end  of  all  things  ?  Was 
he  to  die  here,  all  alone,  under  the  blazing 
sun  on  the  desert  sands?  Was  he  never 
to  hear  his  mother's  voice  again — never  to 
see  her  face  ?  He  raised  himself  up,  for 
he  did  not  wish  to  die. 

"  T'Jean,  T'Jean,  enter  the  dance  !" 

There  seemed  to  float  before  his  eyes, 
as  if  in  a  terrible  whirlwind,  the  phantom 
dancers,  mounting  in  rapid  circles  and 
quickly  vanishing  in  the  embrace  of  the 
blue  ether. 

Jean  longed  to  follow  them,  but  they 
floated  away  swiftly,  like  smoke  before 
the  wind. 

Suddenly  he  felt  that  he  was  being 
lifted  up  as  if  on  wings,  and  he  thought 
it  was  the  supreme  moment  of  death.     It 


328  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

was  only  a  contraction  of  the  muscles,  a 
horrible  spasm  of  grief. 

A  jet  of  blood  flowed  from  his  mouth, 
and  hissing  against  his  temple  he  seemed 
to  hear  a  voice  : 

"  T'Jean,   T'Jean,  enter  the  dance  !" 

At  last  he  grew  calmer,  and  sank  down 
exhausted  upon  his  bed  of  sand. 

Memories  of  his  childhood  crowded 
through  his  brain,  strangely  vivid  and 
clear.  He  heard  the  old  songrs  with 
which  his  mother  had  lulled  him  to  sleep 
in  his  little  cradle ;  suddenly  the  village 
clock  sounded  noisily  in  his  ears,  and 
then  in  the  midst  of  the  gloomy  desert 
he  seemed  to  hear  the  Angelus ! 

Tears  rolled  down  his  bronzed  cheeks; 
the  prayers  of  his  youth  revisited  his 
memory,  and  he  prayed  once  more  with 
the  fervor  of  a  little  child.  In  his  hands 
he  held  the  ima^e  of  the  Vircjin  which 
his  mother  had  placed  around    his   neck! 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         329 

He  had  the  strength  to  carry  it  to  his  lips. 
He  kissed  it  passionately,  and  with  his 
whole  soul  he  prayed  to  that  mother  of 
griefs  to  whom  his  mother  knelt  each 
evening. 

Radiant  dreams,  illusions,  and  the 
forms  of  those  who  had  long  been  dead, 
appeared  to  him;  and  then  in  the  crush- 
ing silence  of  that  mighty  solitude,  he 
murmured  faintly,  again  and  again,  "  Meet 
me  in  heaven!    meet  me  in  heaven!" 

It  was  now  past  mid-day;  Jean  was 
suffering  less. 

The  desert,  under  the  intense  heat  of 
the  tropical  luminary,  appeared  to  him  as 
a  great  white  furnace  whose  heat  no 
longer  burned  him.  His  chest  dilated  as 
if  to  inhale  more  air,  his  mouth  opened 
for  the  last  time,  and  there,  under  the 
fierce,  blazing  light  of  the  glowing  sun, 
he  passed  away,  gently,  peacefully. 


330  The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XXIII. 

On  Fatou-gaye's  return  from  the  vil- 
lage of  the  old  priest,  the  women  of  the 
allied  tribes  told  her  that  the  combat  was 
over.  She  hastened  to  the  encampment, 
panting  and  exhausted,  dragging  her 
weary  footsteps  painfully  over  the  burn- 
inor  sands. 

On  her  back  she  bore  her  sleeping  in- 
fant, still  enveloped  in  the  piece  of  blue 
cloth.  She  had  carefully  concealed  in  her 
bosom  the  mysterious  leather  bag  given 
to  her  by  the  old  priest.  As  she  neared 
the  encampment  she  saw  the  Mussulman 
Nyaor-fall,  who  regarded  her  gravely  as 
she  approached  him. 

In  the  language  of  his  country  she 
spoke  to  him  three  words: 

"Where  is  he?" 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.        331 

And  Nyaor  with  a  mournful  gesture 
extended  his  arm  in  the  direction  of  the 
lonely  plains  of  Dialakar. 

"Yonder,"  he  said;  "he  has  gained 
Paradise.'' 


332         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XXIV. 

All  day  long  Fatou-gaye  wandered 
about  feverishly  in  the  thickets  on  the 
sand,  still  carrying  on  her  back  her  sleep- 
ing child.  She  advanced,  returned,  and 
sometimes  ran  about  with  the  excited 
movement  of  a  panther  which  has  lost  its 
young.  She  sounded  the  bushes,  pushed 
aside  the  thorny  briers,  searching  every- 
where under  the  scorching  sun. 

At  three  o'clock,  far  away  on  the  arid 
plains  she  perceived  the  dead  body  of  a 
horse  ;  then  a  red  coat — then  two — then 
three.     It  was  the  scene  of  the  attack. 

Here  and  there  the  light  shadows  of 
the  tamarind  and  mimosa  rested  on  the 
dry,  parched  earth,  and  afar  off,  across 
the  barren,  limitless  waste,  could  be  seen 
the  silhouette  of  a  village,  its  pointed  roofs 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         333 

clearly  defined  against  the  deep-blue  of 
the  horizon. 

Fatou-gaye  paused,  trembling,  terrified. 
She  saw  him  Ivincj  there  with  outstretch- 
ed  arms,  his  mouth  open,  his  face  up- 
turned to  the  burning  sun.  She  repeated 
a  kind  of  invocation,  a  pagan  rite,  touch- 
ing the  amulets  suspended  from  her  neck, 
speaking  in  a  whisper;  her  eyes  were 
haggard  and  bloodshot. 

After  awhile  she  saw  coming  toward 
her  from  the  distant  village  a  number  of 
old  women  of  the  hostile  tribes.  These 
old  negresses  were  hideously  ugly,  and  as 
they  approached  the  bodies  of  the  spahis 
the  trinkets  and  glass  beads  with  which 
they  were  profusely  adorned  jingled 
noisily.  They  moved  the  bodies  about 
with  their  feet,  and  grinning  and  chatter- 
ing like  monkeys,  they  violated  the  dead 
with  insulting  buffoonery. 

They  tore  the  gilt  buttons  from  the  gay 


334  '^^^  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

uniforms,  decorating  their  woolly  heads 
with  them,  and  gathered  up  the  steel  spurs, 
caps,  and  belts. 

Fatou-gaye,  crouching  like  a  cat  ready 
to  spring,  was  concealed  among  the 
bushes.  When  she  saw  them  turn  toward 
the  body  of  Jean  she  bounded  forward, 
uttering  a  cry  like  a  wild  animal,  and 
cursed  the  women  in  an  unknown  tongue. 
Her  child,  awakening,  clung  terrified  to  the 
back  of  the  enraged  mother. 

The  old  women  were  so  frightened  at 
the  sight  of  her  that  they  fled.  They 
were  already  laden  with  spoils,  so  they 
moved  off,  thinking  to  return  on  the  mor- 
row. 

Speaking  words  that  Fatou-gaye  could 
not  comprehend,  they  would  go  a  short 
distance  and  then  return  to  taunt  her, 
laughing  ferociously  and  gesticulating 
like  chimpanzees. 

When  Fatou-gaye  was  once  more  alone 


The  Roma f ice  of  a  Spaki.         335 

she  knelt  by  the  side  of  Jean  and  called 
him  by  his  name  repeatedly,  *'  T'Jean ! 
T'Jean  ! "  in  a  shrill  voice  that  sounded  in 
the  solitude  like  the  voice  of  an  ancient 
priestess  calling  the  dead.  She  crouched 
there  under  the  implacable  sun  of  Africa, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  great  sombre  hori- 
zon, for  she  was  afraid  to  look  at  the 
body  of  Jean. 

Above  her  the  vultures  were  flying 
boldly,  beating  the  heavy  air  with  their 
large  black  wings.  They  hovered  over 
the  dead  bodies,  but  dared  not  touch  them; 
they  were  too  fresh. 

Fatou-gaye  saw  the  image  of  the  Vir- 
gin in  the  hand  of  Jean,  and  she  under- 
stood that  he  had  died  praying.  She 
also  had  an  image  of  the  Virgin,  and  a 
scapulary,  among  the  charms  around  her 
neck.  At  Saint  Louis  a  Catholic  priest 
had  baptized  her,  but  she  had  no  faith  in 
them. 


r^       336         TAe  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

So  she  took  an  amulet  of  leather,  the 
one  given  to  her  long  ago  by  her  mother 
in  the  land  of  Gallam,  and  kissing  it  ten- 
derly, for  it  was  her  favorite  charm,  she 
placed  it  around  the  neck  of  Jean. 

Then  she  took  her  little  child  to  stran- 
gle it;  but  not  wishing  to  hear  its  cries, 
she  filled  its  mouth  with  sand,  and  in  a 
rage  of  grief  and  despair  she  dug  a  hole 
in  the  sand  and*  buried  it  there,  pressing 
it  very  hard  until  the  vigorous  little  limbs 
stiffened  and  fell  still  and  helpless.  Then 
she  threw  herself  upon  the  body  of 
Jean. 

Thus  died  the  child  of  Jean  Peyral. 
Mysterious  Providence  !  Why  was  life 
given  it?  What  did  it  come  to  find  upon 
this  earth,  and  whence  did  it  return  ? 

Fatou-gaye  wept  tears  of  blood,  and 
her  heart-rending  groans  resounded  over 
the  plains  of  Dialakar.  At  last  she  took 
from  the  leather  bag   she    had   obtained 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.        337 

from  the  old  priest  a  bitter  powder.  She 
swallowed  it,  and  her  agony  began. 

For  a  long  time  she  lay  there  strug- 
gling under  the  blazing  sun,  in  horrible 
convulsions,  clutching  her  throat  with  her 
fingers,  and  tearing  her  hair  so  gaily 
adorned  with  amber  and  coral. 

And  the  vultures  hovered  above  her, 
waiting  to  see  her  die. 


22 


338         The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 


XXV. 

At  sunset  on  the  plains  of  Dialakar  she 
lay  extended  on  the  body  of  Jean,  clasp- 
ing in  her  stiffened  arms  the  body  of  her 
little  child. 

And  the  night  descended  warm  and 
starry  on  those  forms  resting  so  peace- 
fully there  after  their  savage  life — de- 
scended silently,  mysteriously  over  all  the 
gloomy  land  of  Africa ! 

That  same  evening  the  nuptial  cortege 
of  Jeanne  Mery  passed  before  the  house 
of  the  old  Peyrals  at  the  foot  of  the 
Cevennes. 


The  Romance  of  a  Spahi.         339 


XXVI. 

APOTHEOSIS. 

At  first  it  was  but  a  groan  in  the  dis- 
tance, at  the  extreme  end  of  the  horizon 
of  the  desert,  then  the  lugubrious  concert 
sounded  nearer  and  nearer — the  weird 
yelpings  of  the  jackal,  the  sharp,  fierce 
cries  of  the  hyena. 

Poor  old  mother!  That  human  form 
vaguely  defined  in  the  dim  starlight, 
lying  there  in  the  depths  of  that  fearful 
solitude,  mouth  gaping,  arms  extended 
under  the  blue  heavens,  who  is  asleep 
there  at  the  hour  when  all  the  savage 
beasts  are  awake  and  roaming,  who  will 
never  rise  again — poor  old  mother,  poor 
old  woman,  it  is  your  son ! 

By  the  light  of  the  stars  the  famished 
band,  grazing  the  thickets  and   jumping 


340        The  Romance  of  a  Spahi. 

over  the  high  bushes,  rush  upon  the 
bodies  of  the  spahis,  and  begin  the  repast 
desired  by  bHnd  nature — the  living  in  one 
form  or  another  feeding  upon  the  dead. 

In  his  hand  the  man  still  held  the 
image,  the  woman  her  charms  of  leather. 
Guard  them  well,  O  precious  amulets  ! 

To-morrow  the  vultures  will  continue 
the  work  of  destruction  ;  then  their  bones 
will  be  dragged  over  the  sands  by  all  the 
beasts  of  the  desert,  at  the  mercy  of  the 
winds  and  grasshoppers. 

Old  parents  seated  by  your  fireside  in 
your  humble  cottage  far  away — old  father 
bent  with  age,  dreaming  of  your  son,  the 
handsome  youth  in  the  gay  uniform — old 
mother  who  prays  each  evening  for  the 
absent  one — wait  for  your  son — await 
forever  the  coming  of  the  spahi ! 


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